Fate on Fire
by DreamsAreMyWords
Summary: When Quinn's older sister Frannie dies, Quinn's family is broken. Then she gets pregnant and that same broken family disowns her. When she's paired with Santana-her ex best friend and the one person who makes her doubt everything about herself- for the Glee summer vacation extravaganza, fate is on fire. Will it burn or ignite? Quinntana. A Glee AU.
1. Prologue

**A/N: This is my first actual fanfiction, so bear with me. I love feedback so feel free to help me out and tell me what you think!**

**Anyway, this is a Glee AU. You'll find out a lot of the differences as the story progresses. One difference I can tell you now is that Lucy Caboosey never existed; Quinn and Santana have grown up together, along with Rachel, Puck, and many others of the gang. Brittany moved to the school when Quinn and Santana were freshman. This story is going to have one chapter where there's just a bit of Pezzberry, Brittana, Faberry, maybe a little Quitt, Klaine, Finchel and Quick, and then the whole story is definitely centered around Quinntana, obviously Lol! It might sound crazy but trust me, it'll work. :)**

**Thank you, hope ya like it!**

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**Chapter I:  
****_Prologue_**

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**Quinn's POV**

It was a Friday night when it happened.

I was out, doing something I shouldn't have been doing. My parents were both home, watching the Presidential election. My older sister was cheering at a football game. I was in the backseat of Noah Puckerman's truck, parked behind an old bowling alley.

This wasn't something I normally did, I can assure you that. Currently, I was straddling Puck, arching my body pliantly into his while he held me tightly by my hair, kissing his way down my neck and onto my chest. I was seventeen years old, and ordinarily I would spend my time at home, doing homework or practicing my cheer routines. I was rarely out with someone, no matter how often I intended to be. I spoke to many boys in my class, but it was mostly all talk and no action, which was all on my behalf.

I could hear distant cheering, which meant the football game was nearly over. I wondered how the halftime show went. My sister was the captain of the Cheerios squad. And the basketball team. And the softball team, and even the soccer team, plus she was the president of student council, in the national honor society, and ran many other clubs as the leader. She was the pride and joy of my family, the golden daughter constantly put on the top pedestal, and I could hardly blame her for being so. I was proud of her. She was a good person, not like every other girl on the squad who went and got trashed every weekend. She was a straight-A student who got along with everyone, and she was a senior who had just signed a cheerleading scholarship to attend Ohio University. She told me yesterday that she might even try out for the basketball team once football season was over.

"Let's take this off," murmured Puck, and I felt his fingertips brushing the skin of my stomach just under the bottom hem of my shirt. Although it was essentially pointless, as I was far from into this, I allowed him to lift my shirt and push my bra up with it. As he lowered his head to bring flesh into his mouth, I raised my gaze to look at the moon through the truck's back window. Like usual, I was completely and utterly bored.

All my friends in school would be jealous of where I was right now. Many of them would leap at the chance to be with Puckerman, and to be honest, many of them had been. I don't know why – he wasn't the most attractive person I'd ever seen. He was all right, in my opinion.

He whispered my name into my ear before nibbling my ear lobe. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and sigh as I stared out the window.

I strained my ears, listening for sounds of the football game as Puck kissed my chest with the finesse of an orangutan. I could hear nothing, which meant my sister would be heading home about now. Normally, she and my parents and I would be going to eat dinner at the local restaurant in town, but since the presidential election was on, my parents hadn't gone to the game. And since I wanted to give another try at feeling attraction, and my parents would never know the difference, I hadn't gone either.

Puck's hand drifted toward the fork between my legs, and I slapped it away. "Why?" he muttered, half a smile on his face. He took my hand instead and led it to his jeans.

I made up an excuse rather than telling him I just didn't want him touching me. "I don't put out on the first date."

He went to put my hand under his jeans, and I felt a sense of repulsion. I yanked my hand back to rest over his jeans. I would do this over his clothes, and that was all he was getting.

He made a noise and settled back, closing his eyes as I moved my hand. I stopped, jolting guiltily, when my phone vibrated from in the cup holder in the front of the truck. Puck tried to tug me back as I crawled off him, reached to get my phone. It was a text message from my sister.

**Hey girlie, where are you? We won the game!**

"Who is it?" asked Puck from behind me.

"Frannie." I quickly replied congratulations to her, avoiding answering her question, and her next text made me relieved.

**Meet me at Breadstix to celebrate!**

"Hey, we need to go." I said, swiveling around to face Puck. "Frannie texted and said to meet her at Breadstix."

"Seriously?" Puck groaned, and pointedly looked down at the part of his body I was trying to avoid.

"Yes, seriously. Let's go." I pulled my bra and shirt back down before I climbed into the passenger seat and buckled up.

Puck gave a huff of breath, following after and climbing into the driver's seat. He started the car before leaning toward me and breathing into my ear, "But I thought we were going to…"

"I actually feel a little sick," I calmly lied. Irritation was spewing in my stomach. This was the latest in several attempts to be with a guy and not succeeding due to my own inhibitions. "I might just be hungry. So let's go."

"I have something you could eat." Puck grinned, but put the truck into gear and pulled out onto the road.

The drive to Breadstix was short and silent. When we arrived, I kissed Puck's cheeks and thanked him for the evening, and he gave me a curt but fairly civilized reply before we both got out of the truck. I knew we probably wouldn't mention this night again. I had probably hurt his ego. I allowed myself to feel a small ounce of guilt before I entered Breadstix.

It was packed, as it usually was after a football game. The entire team tended to celebrate with a million buckets of breadsticks. I spotted my sister when she rose to greet me, a big grin stretching ear to ear on her pretty face. I beamed at her as we hugged. She was so beautiful; I knew that it wouldn't be long into college that she'd be bringing me home a sister-in-law.

"What was the score?" I asked when we pulled back.

"42-7. It was a good game though; they were up until the third quarter."

"Frannie!" We both turned when Puck waved at us. "Pizza's here!"

I followed Frannie to the table and sat next to Puck. He nudged a piece of Canadian bacon pizza at me and gestured for me to eat. I took it and nibbled on the tip as my sister spoke to me.

"Have you talked to Mom and Dad yet tonight?" When I shook my head, she went on. "They said they think Obama's going to win."

"Good," said Puck from beside me. "I don't want Clinton in office. Last thing our country needs is a woman in charge," he said, winking at me. I rolled my eyes.

"I don't care who wins, really."

"What about your parents?" asked Puck, his mouth full of pizza. He paused for a moment, giving me a nasty view of half-chewed pizza when he opened his mouth to cool off the too-hot pizza he'd shoved into his mouth. He swallowed hard after a second. "Mine hate Obama, but that's probably because they're racist assholes."

"They want Clinton, even though our dad hates that she's a woman. Our mom, however, loves that fact."

"Women." Puck snorted derisively, shaking his head. When I glared at him, he winked again. "Only kidding."

"And this is why you're single." I said, dropping the crust of pizza on his plate.

"Hey," he said, picking up the crust and popping the entire thing into his mouth. "I'm not a one-girl kind of guy, alright?" He grinned, flashing chewed pizza at me again. "I'm single as a dollar and not looking to change."

I rolled my eyes. "You kill me."

Frannie gave me her typical bright smile and leaned over the table toward me, lifting a hand. "You know, you aren't exactly the best person to make single jokes, Quinnie," she said, and flicked me in the forehead.

"Ouch." I said, rubbing the spot where her forefinger had smacked me. "I'm single by choice, thank you, unlike this pig."

Puck snorted again, and I couldn't help but to smile. He might be an idiot and clueless when it came to girls, but he was a good guy at heart.

Frannie glanced at the time on her cell phone before looking up at Puck. "Are you coming?"

Puck stuffed the last bit of pizza into his mouth and stood up. "Duh."

"Okay, well, we need to go now, then. Or we're going to be late."

"Where are you going?" I asked, standing to let Puck out of the booth.

"To celebrate." Puck grinned. He rolled his hips in a crude suggestion and Frannie punched him in the arm. "Damn," said Puck, laughing and rubbing his arm. "Just being truthful."

"I don't think my sister wants to hear that," chuckled Frannie, opening her arms.

"Yeah, I don't." I moved into them and hugged her, quickly as it was obvious that she and Puck needed to be on their way. I wondered if Frannie would ask him why he and I had came into Breadstix together, and if she would guess we had fooled around tonight. Frannie and Puck were actually friends, a common scandal at Mckinley High. Frannie, the leader of the celibacy club with a perfect 4.0 GPA and a smile as sweet and innocent as her baby-fine blonde hair and cute flowing sundresses she wore, hanging out with Puckerman, typical school bad-boy, kicked off the football team as a freshman, getting held back a year, constantly partying and selling weed and sleeping with so many girls it was a wonder he hadn't knocked any of them up yet. It would cause an uproar at school if people knew I'd made out with him tonight, and I was sure it would probably annoy Frannie. Not because she was jealous or anything; no, Frannie only saw Puck as an endearing albeit pain-in-the-ass little brother, despite the fact that he'd tried to get in her pants on more than one occasion. Frannie had her eyes on someone else, someone that only I knew about, and that would greatly upset Puck if he knew. It was a secret that Frannie made me swear never to tell, and one I would take to the grave.

"Where are you going, exactly?"

"It's a party out in the city." I raised my eyebrows, surprised, and Frannie smiled, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip. "I know, I don't usually do this. Not my type of thing. But, well, it was playoffs today, and we won, and I'm a senior so this is probably my only chance to do this. We'll probably be back pretty late tonight. Cover for me?" When I nodded, Frannie gave me that typical Frannie Fabray smile, full of sweetness, with a type of coy slyness behind it. Then she waved, and I watched as she, Puck, and a few other girls and boys from the Cheerio's and the football team walked out the door. And that was the last time I would ever see my sister.

I left Breadstix and walked home to sit in the kitchen and listen to my mother fume over Obama's impending victory as she vigorously stirred cake mix while my Dad raged from the living room as he watched all the blue appearing on the television screen. Later, after licking clean the bowl of white cake mix since I wasn't allowed to eat the cake until Frannie was home due to it being made to celebrate the football victory, I headed to my room.

I lay in my bed and absently flicked through the text messages on my phone, wondering whether or not Frannie would drink at the party. I wondered if Santana Lopez was also at the party. My heart shuddered, and I felt as though it had been stabbed at the mere fleeting thought of her. I had not spoken to my best friend in three months. Santana and I had known each other since primary school, and yet two years and three weeks into high school and several boyfriends in between caused a rift between us that both perplexed and infuriated me.

_No, don't lie to yourself._

I wasn't totally clueless when it came to our rift_. I_ helped cause it. I was forced to. Who knew what the consequences could have been otherwise…

I set my phone on the nightstand, cleared my throat uncomfortably, squeezed my eyes shut and rolled over in bed, curling into a ball and clutching my stuffed cheetah tightly to my chest. I didn't want to think about what happened three months ago between Santana and I. I didn't want to think about the way her dark eyes flitted over to me every time she and Brittany walked past me in the hallway with their pinky fingers interlocked. I didn't want to think about the ache I felt inside when I watched her cheering on the varsity team while I just sat there wrapping my ankle hating how much I missed her. I didn't want to think about the fact that I regretted what happened between us every second of the day. And I sure as hell didn't want to think about how alone and empty I felt without her anymore. I didn't want to think about anything. _Especially _Santana.

Slowly, I began to drift into sleep. I was almost satisfied with who I was as my mind clouded over and a drowsy slumber overtook me. I was the first freshman to make captain of the Cheerios, until my injury forced me to revert to the junior varsity squad while I healed. I was the sister of Frannie Fabray, practically the queen of Mckinley High. I was the daughter of Russell Fabray, the most prominent lawyer in Lima Heights and a state official, and Judy Fabray, head of the church committee. I was someone who could walk down the hallways at school and have people part for me like the red sea. I was _Quinn Fabray_. I may not be the happiest person, in fact I definitely wasn't, but life was okay, and I was okay with that fact.

At a quarter past three in the morning, I was roused from my bed from the sound of loud, keening sobs so filled with anguish that I immediately fled downstairs, my heart sunk to my feet, to find my mother limp in my father's arms and the phone clattering to the floor. My father's face was stark - white, his eyes huge and wide-open, and my mother's face was a sight too painful to even behold. It was at that moment that numbness settled into me, so swiftly and easily that I think that in all the years of my life, it had just been waiting to enter me, to poison me into the sweet oblivion of no sensation.

Slowly, I turned to face the open doorway that stood near the hallway, between the kitchen and living room. The horrified feeling rooted in my brain, my heart, was confirmed; my sister's bed was empty.


	2. The Senior Trip

**A/N: Flashbacks are in italics. You guys, feel free to ask me any questions you may have!**

**Enjoy!**

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**Chapter II**

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_**Two years later**_

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**Santana's POV**

_I skimmed my fingertips along the smooth skin of her arm, stroking her from wrist to shoulder. I felt myself echo her shudder, heard the little gasp when we both sucked in a shaky breath._

_ This wasn't what I had intended._

_ I leaned forward, touched the tip of my nose to hers. _

_ But it felt right._

_ I lifted my hand, placed it on the side of her head. Golden strands fell into her eyes as I buried my fingers beneath her hair. She lifted her own hand and brushed them away before reaching out, stroking the curve of my cheek._

_ Slowly, I moved my head, touching butterfly-light kisses along her face, moving from her forehead to her cheek to her chin to her nose, her other cheek and back around again. When I kissed her nose, I felt her sigh wash over me, her warm breath smelling of the sweet apples we had eaten earlier. _

_ "Santana," she husked, and I felt heat pool in response to her tone and the way it layered over my name.  
_

_How long was I expected to do this before doing anything else? All I wanted was to—_

* * *

My eyes snapped open as I woke instantaneously. My skin felt hot and prickly, goosebumps on my arms and heat between my legs. It took me a second as I struggled to fight through confusion to realize that I had just had yet another wet dream about Quinn Fabray.

I groaned, rolled over in bed and buried my face in my pillow, muffling the heavy sigh I expelled. Honestly, why did I have to torture myself? I mean seriously. I hadn't talked to the girl in years, yet at least every other few weeks I would have a wet dream about her. And the fucked up thing was, they weren't even wet dreams. We didn't have sex in them. We were just together in them, and that made me wet. Sometimes, they weren't even imaginings; some were memories, such as the dream I just had. In some ways, I think those were the worst kind.

I slid halfway off the bed, reaching so I could fish my iPhone out of the back pocket of the pair of dirty crumpled jeans I had left on the floor. They spelled of the booze that Brittany had accidentally spilled on them at the party last night, before she peeled them off of me later. Surprisingly, we hadn't had sex last night, and she had gone home instead of staying over. As much as I loved her, I was grateful she hadn't stayed. I wasn't in the mood for company, even if the company was as sweet as Brittany's.

I checked through my messages from last night, wincing at the drunken exchanges between Brittany and I. They were filthy, and probably shouldn't be considering Brittany was dating Sam Evans. _Way to be secretive._ He probably went through her phone. Oh well. I smirked as I continued to scroll through them. I hadn't remembered sending any pictures to her, so it was fun seeing that I had. I had no recollection at all of taking them. No wonder my legs were sore.

I climbed out of bed and to my feet, yawning as I stretched. I started getting ready absently; to be honest, I wasn't really in the mood to go out, but it was mandatory. The Glee Club was having a meeting in a couple hours, which was unusual on a Saturday but necessary, since we were going to plan our own Senior trip. It would probably be going to the local ice-skating rink, or driving out of state to a themepark or something lame like that. With Berry as the self-proclaimed queen of the whole shebang, it was probably going to be something extra lame, such as attending the Opera.

I grew increasingly annoyed as I straightened my hair and applied makeup to my face. This was going to be a giant waste of time. Berry will be bitching about some vocally-empowering trip that we all are obligated to take. Frankenteen will be suggesting shitty kiddy things like bowling. Sugar Motto will go on and on about some fancy hotel that none of us could afford, Mercedes and Kurt will beg to see a fashion show, Puck, Sam and Artie will probably demand a stripper joint, Mike will want some dance show and Tina will follow suit, and Brittany would definitely want to go to a petting zoo. There was only one person who I could not so easily predict, and she was the one person I did not want to think about and hoped would not be at the meeting or the trip. If I were lucky, she would decide to stay home to take care of her kid.

I arrived at the meeting late. When I walked in the auditorium, everyone was already assembled in his or her usual seats. I found Britt and immediately headed for my seat beside her, and as I walked, my eyes did their habitual tradition of punching me in the gut by flickering up at the blonde who sat two rows up and as far away from my seat as possible. Quinn's hair was loosely curled today, cascading down past her shoulders in sunlit spirals. Her hazel eyes were as they usually were when I walked through the door: deliberately and determinedly fixated on no particular tile in the ceiling. My heart made the familiar painful twang, but I ignored it as I turned my back to her and sat down beside Britt.

I was the last person to arrive, so the moment I sat, Rachel instantly leapt to her tiny hobbit feet and hurried to the stage. Britt leaned over to me and I leaned to meet her so she could whisper into my ear, "Is she going to sing?"

I snorted. "It's Berry. So most likely."

"Okay fellow Glee-clubbers, it's finally that time. Time for one of the greatest adventures of our young lives: our long-awaited senior trip!" She enthusiastically clapped her hands together, pausing for the rest of the club to awkwardly offer a few scattered claps. Then she continued. "As you know, there has been much discussion over the past few months about where we're going. Yesterday, a few of us met up for a movie night at my house, and though the amount of people who attended was scarcer than I would have liked…" Her eyes moved over the crowd, lingering on me, Puck, Britt, Sam, and Quinn, all the people who had went to the party last night instead. Well, except for Quinn, who I assumed had went home to be with her daughter and do whatever else it was that she did in her personal life. Who knows. "We still managed to think of a few suggestions for the trip. And then…we came to the perfect idea." Rachel's face was shining and her tiny body was practically vibrating with excitement. "One word." Everyone waited with bated breath as Rachel paused yet again for dramatic effect. I bit my tongue so I wouldn't roll my eyes or make a scathing comment. Ten bucks she was about to declare we were going to see fucking Fanny Girl.

"Maldives."

A few people, such as Kurt, Tina, and Sugar Motto cooed and clapped their hands, chattering animatedly. Finn, Mike and Blaine all grinned, obviously having heard about what it was. But everyone else, including me, just frowned.

"What the hell is Maldives?" I demanded.

"That doesn't sound like a place where chicks walk around with no clothes on," muttered Puck.

"No, no, Maldives is an incredible place!" insisted Rachel, practically beaming at us all. "It's a spa resort of the Seychelles coast, and it's called the Lily Beach Resort. It's so beautiful there, my dads visited the summer before last and they _loved_ it, they said it was the best vacation they've ever had. It was voted the best family resort in 2012!"

"We aren't family," I retorted, and immediately regretted it when everyone turned their heads to stare at me, hurt in their eyes. We were a family, even if it was whack and dysfunctional at times. We had supported each other for the past four years. We supported Rachel when she auditioned for a Broadway show, and when she didn't get the callback. We supported Kurt when he tried to start his own fashion line. We supported Quinn when she became pregnant, despite how hard that was for me personally. They all supported me when I came out and Brittany and I decided to officially date. We_ are_ a family. "I meant by blood," I mumbled, and everyone seemed to accept it, turning to look at Rachel again.

"It'll be pretty cheap for us to go too, since I already called and questioned them about any possible discounts. They said if we bring a least a 15 person group then we'll get a forty percent discount!"

Everyone oohed, and I had to admit even I was a little impressed.

Finn stood and walked around the stage to stand behind Rachel, slipping his long arms around her small waist. "What we'll mostly need money for is our flights, and then spending money for like, food and souvenirs. We'll be there for two weeks."

Sugar Motto suddenly stood, clearing her throat to gain everyone's attention. "My daddy offered to pay for all our flights, so, you're welcome," she said simply, smirking as she stuck her nose in the air, and then promptly sat down.

The room plunged into a semi-uproar.

"What?"

"Sugar, you don't have to do that!"

"That is a _lot_ of mulla."

"You don't need to pay all that money!"

"That's _way_ too much money!"

Sugar merely shook her head and shrugged. "I got this covered, guys. It's funny you think that's too much money, though. I mean, I_ am_ a millionaire. I would pay for all our rooms too, if it wouldn't turn you all into liberal Democrats like Daddy said it would."

Everyone was silent, contemplating Sugar's words, and then people slowly began to warm. "Thank you, Sugar," everyone simultaneously chanted. She only shrugged again, popping her gum.

"So are we all in agreement that in one month, we're heading for the Lily Beach Resort in Maldives?" asked Rachel eagerly.

Everyone nodded, though apparently Quinn didn't, judging by the next words out of Rachel's mouth.

"Quinn?"

We all turned to look at Quinn, though I was hesitant. It would look weird if I was the only one not looking at her, though, plus I wanted to see her expression. I twisted around in my seat to look at her.

There was a tiny crease between her brows, her lips were drawn in a thin line, and her chin was perched on her fists. She frowned thoughtfully for a moment before murmuring, "I might be able to go. It's just…" Her teeth worried her bottom lip before she finally said, "It's just…that's half a month. Beth…"

At the name, Puck's face fell, his eyes widening a little. Apparently it had not occurred to him that he wouldn't see his daughter for that long, although he only saw her a couple times a week anyway.

She didn't want to leave Beth behind. I couldn't blame her there. Her daughter was only a little over a year old, and as far as I knew, she never left her side except for school and her mystery job that no one in Glee club seemed to have any information on. I had asked before what her job was, but no one ever knew, not even Puck.

"Quinn," said Puck. She met his intent gaze. "You know, you haven't gotten out of the house in months. You need this. You need a break. Why don't you have your grandma watch Beth for a couple of weeks, and come with us?"

"Yeah, the resort said over fifteen people, so if you don't come then the rest of us can't—" Artie's voice was cut off when Sam dug his elbow into Artie's ribs.

"Seriously, Quinn. You should have a vacation," said Puck seriously.

Quinn considered it and everyone else when they chipped in agreeing with Puck. Finally, she sighed and nodded. "Okay, I'll go. They say you should give your baby some space sometimes anyway. I'm the only one she'll let hold her, plus I'm exhausted and could do with a beach to lounge on, so I guess it'll be good for both of us."

Everyone cheered, and Rachel pulled a notebook out to take information on it.

"Okay so, we can go ahead and write down who is rooming with who then, right?" Rachel began to scrawl something down. "Finn and I will be rooming together…I'm guessing all the couples are sleeping in the same beds, right?" At the general agreements of the room, Rachel nodded and continued to write. "Okay, so that's Mike and Tina…Kurt and Blaine…Sam and Brittany." She looked up expectantly, her pen hovering over the paper. "What about everyone else?"

_Shit._ Brittany would have been my choice, my only choice really, to share a room with. Now what the hell was I supposed to do? I eyed the room. I sure as hell was not sharing a room with Rory Flannagin. I would be waking up to a leprechaun boner every morning, the kid practically got hard just being around a female. I wasn't about to share a bed with Mercedes either. She practically screamed 'diva that hogged the bathroom.' I wasn't going to share with Artie and deal with helping haul him into bed. I wasn't going to share with Puck and deal with him trying to crawl into my bed at every chance he could, trying to get in my pants. Joe Hart was a big fucking no simply because his dreads were disgusting. Quinn was an obvious, definite _**no**_. There was no question there. So that left Sugar. She would be alright, I suppose. I could share her expensive perfume and toiletries, anyway.

"I'll share with Mercedes!" exclaimed Sugar, throwing her arm around Mercedes, who sat beside her. "Our room will be called Chocolate Sugar!" Mercedes broke down into giggles, and Rachel smiled as she wrote it down.

_Shit._

"I'll share with my boy Joe," spoke up Rory, and he and Joe nodded at one another. Rachel scribbled it down.

"So that leaves…Santana, Puck, Artie and Quinn." Rachel looked up expectantly again, but was only met with silence. "Um…what about…Quinn, do you want to share with Puck?"

The question was said tentatively and awkwardly, obviously because Rachel was thinking of the history between them. After Quinn became pregnant with Puck's baby, they fell out; or rather Quinn froze him out, I should say. They didn't talk up until the baby was born, and then tentatively began to speak on friendlier terms, when Puck would come over to visit Beth.

Quinn didn't move, frozen to the spot. She had obviously come to the same conclusion I had; it was Puck, Artie or me. Puck was first choice. I was definitely last. Just as she opened her mouth, presumably to say yes, Puck shook his head. I was surprised for a moment, before realizing that Puck probably didn't want the awkwardness either.

"I'll room with Artie," he said. Behind his spectacles, Artie's eyes widened. I felt my heart drop to my toes and my stomach turn. _What?_

"Okay!" said Rachel happily, marking it down. "That makes you two together, and then Quinn and Santana will share a room. All done!"

Oh my God. Fury pierced through my numbness. I would have roomed with Puck over Artie, and definitely over Quinn. Why the hell did he say Artie instead of me?

_I have to room with Quinn fucking Fabray?_

I couldn't stop my gaze from snapping onto Quinn. She had not moved either. She was still frozen, her lips parted. I could tell from here that her breathing was shallow and rapid, very much similar to mine.

"Well, that's it for now then, I guess. If you want, you can stay behind to discuss meal deals and flight options with us, otherwise you're free to go!" said Rachel, tucking her notebook away in her purse.

I beelined it out of the auditorium, desperate not to speak to Quinn. How the _hell_ was I going to get out of this one?

As I hastily unlocked my front door and fled up the stairs, my shirt caught on the bannister and ripped. In my room, I changed into another blouse, and stared at the red ripped fabric in my hands. Despite myself, that night when I went to sleep and stared at the ripped shirt draped over my computer chair, I couldn't help but to remember another ripped shirt that I wished I could forget. I wish I could forget all my old memories.

And still, despite myself, I couldn't stop them from coming back to me.

* * *

_I jumped, jerking my arms and consequently causing cereal and milk to slop out of the bowl and over the hardwood surface of the table. I looked up sourly to see that it was Quinn who had burst through the door._

_"Santana! You have to help me!"_

_I glared at her as I brought my bowl of half-gone cereal to me again and raised the spoon. She stared at me for a second, confused, and then noticed the spilled milk and cereal. _

_"Oh! Sorry. Here." She hurried to the kitchen bar, seized a large handful of paper towels and hastily came back. As she began to mop up the table, she continued in the same frantic rush, "Look, I really need your help, are you busy this morning? I'm guessing not. Can you _please_ help me?"_

_Ordinarily I would be annoyed that she just assumed I wasn't doing anything, even though it was an accurate assumption since I never did anything in the mornings._

_"Yeah, sure. What is it?" _

_That was when I finally looked up from my cereal and really noticed what she looked like. I felt my stomach flip, like it always did around her._

_Her hair was up in that perfectly smooth, spiraled high pony tail. Her face was smooth and makeup free. She wore a tight, form fitting white underarmor shirt beneath her Cheerios uniform. She wasn't wearing shoes; she usually didn't when she entered my house. Glancing over at the door, I saw that her cheer shoes were perched neatly against the wall._

_"It's this. Tell me you can fix this," said Quinn desperately, and lifted something I hadn't noticed she'd had in one of her hands. It was a crumpled red fabric. Judging by the black letters that were flashed at me, I could tell it was her Cheerios visiting uniform._

_"Kurt's already gone to school for some honors meeting thing, and no one else can do it." She spread out the shirt, revealing a huge hole from the right armpit to nearly the bottom hem._

_I squinted at it for a moment, and then nodded. "Yeah, I can do it. It won't be as good as Kurt's though."_

_"I don't care! I'm eternally in your debt." She bent swiftly to brush a chaste kiss to my cheek. I gave her a surprised smile, rising to my feet so I could go dump my empty bowl in the sink._

_"Again," I reminded her, remembering when I did her math homework for her. "You still owe me for last month."_

_Quinn smiled. "You sound a hooker, San."_

_I shot her a wicked smile over my shoulder as I washed out my bowl. "Bet you'd pay a nice price for me."_

_"You'd wish I would," Quinn shot back, her grin broadening._

_Hmm. Brave. I left the bowl in the sink and turned, taking a towel to dry off my hands. It was never too early in the morning for this kind of banter. "I wouldn't have to wish anything. You'd be banging on my door," I teased, folding my arms beneath my breasts._

_She arched a brow, mimicking by folding her own arms together, leaning against the door jam. "Banging, huh?"_

_Her saying that one word gave me so many images that I literally shivered. Quinn noticed, and her eyes moved over me slowly, lingering in places. Currently, it was on the shorts I was wearing. They were the ones I commonly wore to bed, decorated with candy bar prints and so short my ass was nearly hanging out of them. Under her hazel gaze, I felt my body grow warm._

_"You're brave this morning," I noted._

_Her brow creased in puzzlement as she tilted her head, her gaze shifting back up to meet mine. "What do you mean?"_

_I didn't answer. Her puzzlement first increased upon my silence, then faded. I swear I could see her eyes darkening._

_"And yeah," I added, "I said banging."_

_Her eyebrows arched almost imperceptibly. I sunk my teeth into my bottom lip, trying to talk myself out of walking straight over to Quinn, pressing her back against the door and-_

_Oh, God. Having been hopelessly turned on in about the space of ten seconds, I forced myself to stay standing before the sink. I had allowed myself to lose a certain amount of control three times with Quinn. We had kissed three times now. I would be lying if I said I didn't want to add one more to the list._

_"So," she said, looking down and breaking our gaze. She took her ripped shirt from the table, held it up. "Can you fix this for me? I was supposed to be on the bus five minutes ago."_

_"Shit." Maybe it was too late in the morning for this banter. Glancing at the clock, I saw that it was ten to eight. I would most likely be late to school. I darted forward, snatched the shirt out of her hand, and hesitated a brief second as my gaze caught on her mouth. God I wanted to kiss her._

_But instead I turned and hurried up the stairs for my sewing kit._

_Quinn paced back and forth in the sitting room as I drew thread through her uniform. It was going easier than I expected, but I really wasn't the best. I fervently wished that Kurt or Mercedes had been here to do this. They could have this done in a matter of minutes. And then I wouldn't have to deal with a very stressed out Quinn ranting the whole time._

_"If they leave without me, I'm going to be so pissed." She was wringing her hands as she spoke and repeatedly looking at the time on her cell phone. Apparently, she was actually supposed to have been on the bus nearly fifteen minutes earlier, so she was already late when she arrived at my house. Coach Sylvester was pissed off and threatening to leave without her. __"I thought that the message said we were leaving at seven forty-five!"_

_"I'm sorry this is taking so long," I said desperately, pricking my finger with the needle as I tried to move as quickly as possible. "Do you wanna just take it and wear it-"_

_"No, no!" she cut across me. "I can't! Coach will kill me if she sees that rip. She's already going to kill me when we turn in uniforms at the end of the season and she sees the patchwork!"_

_It was getting more difficult to sew now. I was sweating from the stress and the pressure, and my palms were sweating extra badly. "I'm sorry, I wish I was better at this-" I began in anguish, but she cut over me. _

_"This isn't your fault." She walked over to me, put a hand on my shoulder and peered intently into my eyes. "I'm so grateful you're doing this for me in the first place. You're sewing for me at eight in the morning, and you're late to school." She exhaled a long, exhausted breath when her phone buzzed and she read the message. "They just left," she sighed, easing down beside me onto the couch. _

_I set down the shirt and the needle and thread, and turned to face Quinn. "Sorry, Q," I said sympathetically, reaching up to stroke a few wisps of her golden hair out of her face, lifting them over the top of her head to tuck them back into her ponytail._

_"It's alright. She's a bitch anyway. And it's only JV." _

_Her eyes told another story. She was visibly upset. _

_"Hey," I said, struck by an idea. "Why don't we skip school? We can hang out here all day, just lay around watching movies. What do you say?"_

_A tiny smile returned to her lips, curving them slightly. "I don't know. Don't you have a test today?"_

_I rolled my eyes. "What's your point?" Then I tilted my head, a smile tugging at my lips. "I think a day with my best friend kind of trumps any obligations, don't you?"_

_Her smile made me lose my breath. My heart seemed to falter as she leaned forward, but she only wrapped her arms around my neck in a gentle hug. "Thank you, San," she whispered in my ear. "You always know how to cheer me up."_

_With her body flush against mine and the heat of her skin contributing to the heat currently gathering between my legs, I swallowed, growing uncomfortable as I wrapped my arms around her, returning the hug. I was uncomfortable because I didn't know how I was going to make it through this day, alone in an empty house with Quinn Fabray, and not taste her lips again. Sooner or later, something would have to break. I just hoped it wouldn't be me._


	3. Better You than Her

**Chapter III**

* * *

**Quinn's POV**

Irritation. That is what I'm mostly feeling these days.

Irritation at my boss, who seems to have no inhibitions about constantly making me work late even though he's well aware I have a one year old child waiting for me at home with my sixty year old grandmother. Irritation at the father of my child, Noah Puckerson, for continuing to party despite the fact that he has a child he's supposed to be helping me raise, if not by his presence than at least by his poor financial contributions. And irritation at Rachel fucking Berry for her natural assumptions that everyone in the entire Glee club can just pick up and leave and fly to fucking Maldives.

I mean seriously, Maldives? I looked up the flight cost. If Sugar hadn't offered to pay, it would have cost me a thousand dollars. _A thousand dollars._ I wouldn't have been able to go. There's no way I could afford that plane ticket on top of the cost of everything else, like hotel tickets and money for food and essentials. Not everyone has rich daddies. Okay, well, technically speaking I do, but that's been counteracted since I never see him anymore.

I sighed as I scrubbed the table before me until it was practically sparkling. I straightened, my aching back sending sparks of pain shooting up my spine, and slapped the damp rag over my shoulder, turning to head to the back to collect my things. I turned the lights off and locked the door behind me.

I've been a waitress at the Lima Bean Grand Café for the past year. I still didn't know why the word grand was in its name. Looking around the place, at the shabby brown wallpaper, the round tables surrounded by tiny cramped chairs, and the dim lights hanging low overhead, it was anything but grand. I hated it here, to be honest. My boss was an asshole. My hours sucked. But the pay was good, and with the help of my first and primary job, I was able to make just enough money to get through the month, just enough to pay my grandmother rent and to buy Beth everything she required.

It was exhausting, taking care of a child by yourself. Well, not exactly by myself. I had my grandmother, but she was an old woman who could only do so much. She exhausted easily, so basically, it was me. Thank God I would be finished with high school in just a little over eleven hours.  
I drummed my fingers absently in tune to the radio as I drove home. I used to live in the north side of town, where all the rich people lived. When I became pregnant and my parents kicked me out, I moved in with my grandmother, who lived in the south side of town, more commonly known as Lima Heights Adjacent. Basically, it was the ghetto side of town. And yeah, maybe I did have to hurry from my car to my house, and maybe taking nightly walks was no longer an option in such a dangerous part of town, but to be honest, I kind of preferred it here. At least I no longer had to deal with the snobbish older people who cast me pitiful looks and asked me how I've been doing since Frannie's death every time they came across me.

I ignored the lump that formed in my throat immediately upon thinking of Frannie. It may have been two years since her death, but that lump would always form every time my thoughts strayed to her, which was fortunately getting less and less often, thanks to me keeping myself busy. Now, however, driving home late at night with nothing else to do, I was unable to stop my thoughts from straying to memories I would much prefer to be ignored. _Think of other things,_ I told myself. Happier things. Like Beth. Think of Beth. I thought of the first time I heard her giggle, the first time I watched her crawl, the first time she smiled, the first time she took a step. God, I even thought of the first time she became a possibility to be. The first time I found out she was more than a possibility; she was the concrete future.

* * *

_I__ was ridiculously jittery as I stood in line waiting to pay for my pregnancy test. _

_I couldn't understand it. I __couldn't __be pregnant. For one, I took birth control every day, thanks to my irregular periods. For two, I was Quinn Fabray. President of the celibacy club. My parents were so conservative, controlling and religious. I was not allowed to be pregnant. I mean yeah, so I had sex with Puckerman. Who the fuck cares. My sister died two months ago. I should be allowed some kind of leniency._

_What would I do if I __was __pregnant? Certainly not the idiotic thing other girls in my grade that had been pregnant had done. I wouldn't stay with Puck just because I was having his child. Marriage was sure as hell out of the question. But I wouldn't keep him out of his child's life either though. And I would keep it. Of course I would keep it._

_But how would I do this? I didn't know how to handle a child. I could barely tolerate them in grocery stores and movie theatres. On top of that, I was a child myself. I'm a junior in high school. _

_Clutching the plastic sack that contained the pregnancy test, I headed out to my car, slid in. My nerves were too fried for music, so the drive back to my house was silent. My parents' cars were gone, I noted in relief. So I would be able to do this in private, without having to sneak around._

_Once in my house, I sat in the living room for a long time, staring at the plastic sack. What was I going to do if I was pregnant? My fingers trembled as I texted Puck and asked him to come over, that it was an emergency. I probably wasn't pregnant. It was probably just a coincidence, that I'd missed my period and been feeling a little sick in the morning and had gained some weight, all a couple months after I had sex with Puck. Finally, I gathered enough courage to stand up, seize the sack and march down the hallway._

_Alone in the bathroom, I sat on the toilet with my hand between my thighs. It wasn't that hard to pee on the thing; I was so nervous I'd been about to wet my pants anyway. I closed my eyes, trembling atop the toilet. What would I do if there were a plus sign?_

_Now that this was actually happening, I was thinking differently. I couldn't tell Puck. No, of course not. He would expect us to get together or something ridiculous like that. I would just leave if the plus sign appeared. My parents would probably burn me at the stake if I had a baby out of wedlock. So I would pack my bags tonight and leave. If it was positive. But it wouldn't be. Of course it wouldn't be. No way._

_My heart was pounding so hard. I wanted to cry. Shaking, I set the device on the counter as I wiped, flushed, stood and pulled up my jeans. I felt numb as I washed my hands. It was so quiet. _

_I waited the appropriate time before reaching for the test. The world seemed to freeze as I flipped it over, stared at it. _

_Shock sent my temples into a dull pounding. Puck burst through the door. He halted, watching me, and everything seemed suspended in slow motion as I sank to my knees, the pregnancy test rolling out from beneath my limp fingers. Still slowly, he bent down and picked it up. I closed my eyes so I couldn't see his expression. What had I done?_

* * *

The corners of my lips tilted upward in a bitter, bemused smile. Puck had freaked out upon seeing the pregnancy test. He had started shaking violently, if I recall, and instead of consoling me, I ended up being the one who consoled him. I had stood and rubbed his shoulders while he went through a series of phases. After the shaking subsided, he lost all color in his skin and went cold all over. Then he started crying. When he said he couldn't do it, I grew angry and accused him of walking out on me, of starting something that he wasn't going to finish. Then he grew angry too, and demanded to know if I considered him to be just like his own father. I tried to tell him I had no idea who is father was, but he was inconsolable and stormed out of my house uttering all mannerisms of curses at me. For the next month, I called and texted him constantly, and he never answered. At school, he would avoid me as though I carried the plague. Nothing worked. Finally I stopped trying, and we just didn't talk. When I was in my third trimester, I sang She Didn't Have Time by Terri Clark in Glee club basically calling him out. But the whole time I sang, he merely avoided my gaze. There was still a level of victory, though; the whole Glee club obviously knew what was going on, and nearly everyone was sniggering behind his or her hands at Puck, effectively humiliating him. Well, everyone except one person. Santana. She didn't even offer up a smirk.

The lump in my throat appeared again at the thought of Santana. My old best friend. My old…I didn't have words for what she was, what she became to me. I tried not to think about it. It was as much taboo as Frannie was.

Santana and I had been best friends for six years before things began to change between us. Boys came into the picture, and we both became more like rivals, yet we remained best friends. It wasn't until our freshman year of high school that things really began to change, however. And while I knew Santana could not change who she was, I now wished that I could have acted differently. Been around her less, maybe, or just not allowed myself to grow so attached to her. Better not to trust anyone, to be honest. People change, their feelings change, and they just let you down.

When I arrived home, I felt my heart's pain subside when I took up Beth into my arms. This happened every night. No matter how gloomy or dark my day had been, Beth was always there to brighten it up. How on earth was I supposed to be without her for two entire weeks? Even now, I only had four days left with her. Tomorrow we graduate, and then three days after that we would leave for our trip to Maldives. Fortunately, I had a little over a thousand dollars in savings left. I was careful with my money. The moment I became pregnant with Beth, I had began withdrawing my allowances from the ATM every week, putting the cash in a large tin box I owned and hiding it away in a dark shadowy corner of the top shelf of my bedroom closet. I didn't know how my parents would react when they found out, but I knew it wouldn't be good.

I had thought my mom would get over it pretty quickly, because she was still too busy aching with the loss of Frannie to deal with anything else. It was mainly my father I had worried about. He would surely cut off my allowance, I thought, and that was why I started to go ahead and funnel out my savings of nearly ten thousand dollars. I did it gradually, taking out bit by bit, week by week, so they wouldn't notice. But they did notice. When my father confronted me, demanding to know why I had withdrawn so much money out in cash, I lied to him and said that I needed the money because I was planning on buying he and mom a surprise for their upcoming anniversary. Maybe he thought it was tickets for a cruise or something. Either way, he had backed off.

I wasn't showing yet, but I knew it was only a matter of time. Panic began to increase with every passing day that I did not tell them. When the hospital visits began, I grew terrified. What if one of the doctors mentioned it to my father? What if someone saw me driving there? Puck wouldn't answer my calls, and apart from him, no one knew I was pregnant. I wished desperately that I could talk to my old best friend about it, but I hadn't spoken to Santana in over five months, and after the fight we had, there was no way I could speak to her again, especially because of her silence since Frannie had died three months prior. I lived every day in a constant state of terror and anguish, obsessing over what I should and shouldn't do.

Turned out I didn't have to do anything. My father called me one morning when I was in class and left a voicemail stating, in a furiously cold voice, that he had received three statements from the hospital about my ultrasounds and checkups. He had called the hospital, who confirmed I was indeed pregnant, and that was that. He was done with me. He told me in the voicemail that I had by the end of the day to gather my things and get the hell out of his house.

I left school that day, of course, and drove home immediately. My father wasn't there, but my mother was, cold and shaking with wide, petrified eyes, but her jaw was set in resolution. As was typical of my mother, she was going to do whatever the fuck my father told her to do. He told her I was to leave the house and that I was disowned from the family and my inheritance was cut off. So that's what my mother told me too. I begged and pleaded, but she only moved around the house like a ghost, tossing my things into suitcases. To her credit, she at least did most of my packing for me. I just cried on the staircase screaming at her and waiting for my father to come home, thinking that surely he would come around, surely he would realize that he had just lost one daughter and didn't want to lose another, that surely he would realize I was pregnant with his grandchild, someone for him to love, that surely he would remember that I'm his daughter and he's supposed to be there for me, to take care of me, that I needed him.

When my father arrived home, he moved around the house like an inferno, like a raging tornado, ranting at me about the sins I've committed and the shame I've brought the family. I attempted to speak over him, to convince him that I was sorry for my mistake and it was a mistake that had been made in grief, since, to be truthful, I had only slept with Puckerman out of pain, loneliness and feeling lost. My sister had just died only weeks before, and how much I missed my best friend was a pain almost on par with that. Puck was there to help me temporarily forget that pain, even though, if anything, he just gave me more grief.

But my father wasn't having it.

* * *

_My father flung his arm out, pointing a finger at the clock hanging on the wall. It was a quarter past six. "It's time for you to leave. Before I throw you out of this house myself, so help me God."_

"_Daddy, please—" I sobbed, stumbling toward him, my arms outstretched for his embrace, but he only cut me off again._

"_No. You fucking whore." My eyes widened and I froze at his words, my arms suspended in the air. His expression was one of pure hatred and loathing as he looked at me from across the room, his upper lip curled in disgust. "You sinner. You'll burn in hell for this, and I'm not having any part of that, I'm not having any association with you or that bastard inside you. Leave this house, and you are not welcome back. You are disowned from this family. I would take my name from you if I could. You are not a Fabray." The revulsion in his face was palpable as he shook his head in abhorrence. "Why couldn't you be more like Frannie?" _

"_Oh, what?" I managed to get out, my body wracked with my sobs as I sucked in gasping breath after gasping breath. I was so in pain, I thought it felt physical. Literally every part of me ached. And then to hear him compare me, yet again, to precious Frannie. My sister. My beautiful sister that had been gone for three months now. "Be more like Frannie? Frannie is dead!" I burst, wringing my hands. My voice cracked under the strain of my words. "She's dead, Daddy! You want me to be more like her? You want me dead too?"_

"_Better you than her."_

_I paused, my jaw going slack. My mouth fell open in my shock. For a moment, my crying stopped, my gasps of breath halted, perhaps even my heart ceased. The only movements from me were the hot tears pouring down my face. _

_My father had uttered the words under his breath, but it had felt like they had been screamed into my face. Better you than her. _Better you than her. **Better you than her.**

_Without another word, my father turned on his heel and walked out of the room, up the stairs and down the hallway. There was the sound of a door slamming as he shut himself in his office. My mother, who had been trembling in the living room, started, and then hurried after him. I was left standing alone, multiple suitcases scattered in a haphazard array around me. The only thing I did was lift my hand and place it over the slight bulge of my stomach, newly formed only in the past month. Beneath my hand, my child was growing. I felt a sudden longing to find my best friend. To find Santana. To smack Brittany out of the window and then turn and collapse in Santana's arms and weep to her and feel her fingertips caress away my tears and feel her hold me tightly and listen as she assured me everything would be all right. To lift my head up and rub away the taste of my salty tears with the friction of my lips on hers, as I lost myself and forgot everything but her in our kiss._

_But that was just something else, another cherry to top the train wreck of my life, just another sin for my mother's church to convict me of, just another reason for my father to ordain my death. I closed my eyes, forcing my images of my ex-everything Santana, my mother, my father, my idiot baby's father Puck, my judgmental high school, my failed celibacy club, my dysfunctional Glee club, even the pathetic excuse of life, myself, away. The only thing left was the feeling of the warmth of my slightly rounded belly under my palm._

_I opened my eyes and, with steely determination, came to a new resolve. This baby was the only thing I had left._

_So don't fuck it up._

* * *

And I didn't. After I came to that conclusion, I had quickly called a taxi to pick me up and loaded my suitcases inside it. I had nearly buckled myself in when I remembered something, and I hurried up the stairs and into my stripped-bare bedroom to open my closet full of junk, struggle to reach into the top shelf and fumble blindly until my fingertips closed over a tin box. My savings. Then I left that house, went to the only place I could, my grandmother's, and got a job within the next couple of weeks. I stopped calling Puck. I thought about quitting the Cheerios before remembering my captaincy would look good on a college application and my involvement with an arts club, Glee, would look good as well. I worked harder in my studies, though it wasn't as if my perfect 4.0 GPA could get any better. When the school found out about my pregnancy, I dealt with the whispers politically and high-handedly. When Coach Sylvester tried to kick me off the Cheerios, I convinced her to let me stay as a trainer and manager and that, after I had the baby, I would join again and help bring us to another Cheerios National win, which I did the next year, along with our Glee Club's National win. Glee Club was like a breath of fresh air for me, a relief. No one judged me there. No one except for one person. I could always feel her eyes boring into me, every day. Hurt. Angry. Maybe even disappointed. How could I ever fix—

But no. that was another thing I would change. No more thinking about Santana. No more fantasies, no more regrets. What's done is done. Even if I can't stop the fact that every time I allow myself a second of free time, my mind immediately shifted to her, and that even if I can't stop it when most nights I wake up trembling and hot and wet from dreams of the two of us together, even if I can't exactly ignore the fact that half of my being is dedicated to thinking about her, I cannot let it change my course of actions. I would pretend never to have a passing thought about the girl, if that was what kept her at a safe distance from me.

Because I was done with being judged. I was done with being pressured into being a more unrealistic, impossible version of myself. I can't be perfect anymore. Any stress put on me and I would break.

And I didn't plan on letting myself break ever again.


	4. When You Remember (Graduation)

**Chapter IV**

* * *

**Santana's POV**

I was graduating high school in less than an hour.

Currently I stood in a tunnel beneath countless stands in a cold auditorium. It wasn't our usual choir auditorium; our graduation was somewhere in the city, thank God. Out of Lima fucking Heights for once.

I was slightly bored as I leaned against the cool stonewall, watching the others around me. The school had decided to line us up alphabetically by first name, so Tina stood a few people behind me. I watched as she nervously adjusted her graduation cap. A few people before me, Rachel was sliding her tassel between her thumb and forefinger to rid it of any tangles. I personally couldn't care less. I just couldn't wait to get out of this hellhole. I was going to New York after this. I was going to make something of myself. Get a good job where I can utilize my talents. I didn't know what I wanted to do for a career, but I knew I wanted it to involve singing and dancing. I just wanted to get away from this whole town. I was so over it, and the memories here that seemed to haunt me. In New York, I could just make new memories. No friends, I didn't need any. They're only unnecessary distractions. No relationships, either. Just a million one-night stands, with girls ten times hotter than Quinn Fabray.

_Damn it._ I wasn't supposed to think of her like that. I always forget.

It was like she was the punctuation mark hanging on at the end of my every sentence. Even when my trail of thought was nowhere near her, somehow I always ended up thinking about her. It didn't even make sense, honestly. In fact, it was a little crazy.

The graduation music started up. _Finally,_ I thought. I'm starving and ready to get out of here.

I understand I may seem a little nonchalant about the whole graduation thing, but honestly. I was so over it. I was so over all of this shit. I couldn't believe that in three days, I would be traveling to Maldives with Quinn right beside me the whole time. Rachel Berry had had the grand fucking idea of putting the roommates together for the buddy system. Travel together. Fly together. Live together. Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit.

I honestly had no idea how I was going to get through these next couple weeks. I would have made up some excuse not to go, except I knew Quinn would know she's the reason and I couldn't give her that satisfaction. Besides, I half expected her to drop out herself, unable to leave her child for that long. I would have to just wait and see.

At the thought of her, I unconsciously leaned a little to the left, discreetly, so I could peek a few people past Rachel. Quinn was there. I could only see the back of her, the short golden tresses beneath her graduation cap and then her long, red graduation gown. I felt an ache in my heart and belly, a long, slow dragging one, just looking at her. It was graduation. The words had more meaning in my mind now. We were about to graduate. This was when Quinn was supposed to turn around, grin at me while she gave me the thumbs up, and after the ceremony we were supposed to take funny pictures together, and throw our caps in the air together, and afterwards it was her I was supposed to go to Breadstix with, and then after that she was supposed to come stay at my house and spend the night and we'd stay up all night talking and laughing and watching movies together.

Of course, it was the fact that I had wanted to stay up all night not watching movies with her that had been the factor that took all of those possibilities away from me in the first place.

_No, don't even think like that,_ I told myself furiously, tearing my eyes off of Quinn and leaning back against the wall again. My eyes stung, but I only glared upward at the ceiling. _Don't think like that._ It was not entirely _my fault_. Quinn may think it was, but it wasn't. She would not have done the things she did with me, acted the way she did, if she hadn't felt anything for me. She had to have felt _something_ for me. We were best friends for six years before I acted on my…on my feelings for her.

Sometimes I wonder if I shouldn't have. If being her friend was better than confessing my feelings and not having her at all. But I'm always torn. If I hadn't acted on my feelings, I never would have kissed her. I never would have touched her. And even if Quinn never talked to me again, even if the rest of my life was dark and miserable and gloomy, I would carry that with me forever. The feel of our lips touching. The taste of her. How soft and warm her skin was against mine. How when I was holding her against my body, everything in the world made sense. Even if the rest of my life was meaningless, that one brief period of time where I had Quinn gave my entire existence meaning. So I guess that would have to be good enough.

But our friendship had been more than good enough too. It had been amazing. She was my equal. The one person who both challenged me and centered me at the same time. Gave me peace and passion simultaneously. And the years we spent together had been the best years of my years, even despite how difficult it was addressing my sexuality.

I stroked my fingertips over the satin sleeve of my graduation gown as I thought wistfully of the days where Quinn and I were inseparable. We mostly hung out at my house, since my parents weren't home very often. My father was a doctor, so when I was little he was often gone, working at a hospital in the city. A couple years ago, when he found out I was gay, he freaked out. Tried to kick me out of the house, and would have perhaps if my mother hadn't stood up for me. When he demanded to know whom she chose, him or me, she kicked him out without a second thought. Fortunately, my mother's job made pretty good money too, so we weren't completely screwed. And since I had hardly ever seen my dad in the first place, I didn't miss him too much. Quinn had only met him once, when we were very young. That tells you how often my father was around, if my best friend who was with me nearly every day had only seen him once over the course of six years.

I smiled as I thought of the old golden days of our friendship. Long nights of staying up too late watching movies, talking about the most random topics ranging from how cute celebrities were to whether or not the stars were age-old planets that humankind used to reside in before being forced to relocate to a more habitable world. I was so eager then, to please Quinn. I didn't let her walk all over me and she didn't want to, but I was still so eager to please her. Maybe it was because all along I had more than friendly feelings for her, and maybe that was why I treated her like royalty. Of course, after we got into a fight and stopped talking to one another, she definitely acted like a royal bitch. Quinn, master of the Ice-Queen treatment. Cold and merciless.

When I first met Quinn, I had actually wondered if she was a princess. She was so pretty and sparkling. Practically glowing. I was only about eight years old, but still, it took me a good couple of weeks to realize she wasn't actually royalty. I smirked now as I remembered the first time I saw her…

* * *

_I blinked at the little blonde girl standing before me. Her hair was long, curling down her back in golden spirals. A bright red ribbon was tied in near the top of her head, a shade or two lighter than the crimson dress she wore that was decorated with tiny black flowers. It looked like a ladybug dress.  
_

_ The girl had a dimple in her cheek that stuck out when she gave me a shy smile, reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Her eyes were a pretty emerald green and fringed with thick brown lashes. They were so pretty they made my heart beat faster, which confused me. _

_ "Hi."_

_ I blinked again at the sound of her voice, so sweet and…scared. I frowned. She was a new girl, obviously, so she must be scared._

_ "Hi," I said cautiously._

_ She promptly turned to her left, opening the locker before her and sliding her oversized pink backpack off her slight shoulders. "I'm new here."_

_ "I thought that," I said, still frowning as I turned to put my things away in my own locker, right beside the new girl's._

_ The girl paused, turning her head to fix those green eyes on me. "Aren't you gonna ask me what my name is?"_

_ I shrugged, still disconcerted by the effect this girl was having on me. It must be because she looked like a princess. I had never met a princess before. I mused on what it would be like if she really was a princess who had moved here from a far away castle. _

_ "Where are you from?" I asked._

_ "I moved here from California," she supplied, her eyes remaining on me as she closed her locker. _

_ California. The name practically screamed beaches, oceans, palm trees and fancy people. Maybe she was like, the princess of California. If she really was a princess, I guess I should probably be nicer to her, then. I closed my locker and turned to face her. "So what's your name?"_

_ The corners of her lips tilted up in a smile. I wondered if she was wearing makeup, because her lips were very pink. "My name is Quinn Lucy Fabray," she said, and extended an arm out._

_ My frown returned. Geez, maybe she seriously was a princess. Who ever said their full names and shook hands? "Um…I'm Santana Lopez."_

_ "What's your middle name?" she asked._

_ I scowled. No way was I telling anyone what my middle name was, least of all a princess. "I don't have one."_

_ "Oh." The princess—Quinn—smiled again. "Can we be friends?"_

_ I nodded, mirroring her smile. Friends with a princess on my first day of second grade, how awesome was that? Ooh, maybe we were in the same class together. "Who's your teacher?"_

_ She reached into a little pocket in the front of her dress and pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper. "Mrs. Figgins."_

_ I grinned. "We're in the same class."_

_ Her dimple flashed as her smile broadened. "Cool."_

_ I started down the hall and she followed, walking along beside me. I jumped, startled, when I felt her warm hand close over mine. "What are you doing?"_

_ "Can we hold hands?" she asked, her brows lifted hopefully. _

_ I stared at her, confused at why she wanted to hold my hand and confused at why my heart was beating so fast. I quickly shook her hand off mine. "No. My daddy said girls don't hold other girls' hands, except for their mama's." _

_ "Oh." Quinn looked crestfallen. When I frowned questioningly at her, she explained, "I thought if it was okay if friends held hands with each other."_

_ "Not if they're both girls. It's even worse when they're both boys. My daddy said so."_

_ "Oh," she said again, and nodded slowly. "Okay. I hold hands with my sister all the time," she added almost wistfully._

_ "Who's your sister?"_

_ "Her name is Fran Eloise Fabray. She's my big sister, so she's in the upper elementary. She's in fifth grade." Quinn's eyes went wider, as though the fact that her sister was so much bigger than her astonished her. For some reason, I felt a little jealousy spurt into being. _

_ "I'm eight," I boasted. "I'm one of the oldest in Mrs. Figgins' class."_

_ Quinn smiled sweetly, her dimples flashing. "I'm seven," she said shyly. "I'll be eight soon, though. I'm going to have a birthday party. My mama and daddy said I could if I make good grades. Do you…do you want to come?"_

_ My face went red in embarrassment over just how pleased I was to be invited to this girl's party. "What if you don't make good grades?"_

_ Quinn rolled her eyes, her sweet smile twisting into more of a smirk, and I saw a flash of, as my mother would say, feistiness in her as she cocked her head and said, "Oh, I'll get good grades. Easy peasy." _

_ I smirked. "Not as good a grades as I'll get."_

_ Quinn echoed my smirk. "I'll get even better grades than you."_

_ It was my turn to roll my eyes, but as we entered our classroom, I was in high spirits. What luck, to have made such an interesting friend on the first day. "Wanna sit with me?" I asked her, and she immediately nodded, smiling again._

_ We both sat next to Rachel Berry, a girl with brown hair and a big yellow bow in her hair shaped like a star. She had been in my first grade class with me, too. Her eyes widened when she spotted Quinn, all new and shiny and pretty. "Wow! I love your dress."_

_ "Thank you," said Quinn politely, smoothing her dress over her knees._

_ When Rachel turned her attention to Mrs. Figgins, who had just stood up from her chair behind her teacher's desk, I leaned forward to whisper in Quinn's ear, "Rachel's weird."_

_ Quinn glanced furtively at Rachel before looking back at me and nodding in agreement, a smirk returning again to her angelic face. I felt pleased when I leaned back in my chair, smiling happily as I focused my attention on Mrs. Figgins. Quinn could be my new best friend, I decided.  
_

_I hoped she liked me._

* * *

From then on, Quinn and I had been inseparable. I had practically ruled my class, but with Quinn by my side, together we ruled the entire second grade. We had fun victimizing Rachel Berry for no real reason at all, and then as the years passed, it was also Tina Cohen-Chang, because of her stutter, and then it was Mercedes Jones because she was chubby, and then it was Kurt Hummel, constantly teasing him about his girly voice. It wasn't until we made Artie Abrams cry because we wouldn't stop calling him Wheelie that we realized we were taking the whole "popular mean girls" thing to a whole new level, and we chilled out. Being the head cheerleaders and the hottest girls in school, we were still pretty mean, don't get me wrong, but we weren't actually mean people. I was extra mean thanks to my fear that someone, someday was going to call me names if they ever found out I didn't want a boyfriend. But in our freshman year of high school, when we joined Glee club in order to keep an eye on Quinn's then-boyfriend Finn Hudson, we started to back off. Those "nerds" we had made fun of for so long soon became our closest friends. They stopped insulting us, and we stopped bullying them, and we became somewhat of a family. Even when Quinn dumped Finn after he cheated on her with Rachel, Quinn decided it was her karma for giving Rachel hell in middle school, and she left them alone. Besides, the two of us didn't need anyone else. Despite the fact that Quinn constantly had a boyfriend on her arm, it was still just the two of us. Always hanging out together after Cheerios practice and Glee Club rehearsal. Nearly every weekend we hung out together, and even when we couldn't we still saw each other at least once on the weekend during Sunday church.

I pushed off the wall and stood straight, smoothing my robe when Rachel and the person she was paired with left the tunnel. I was paired with a random kid too. I think his name was Shawn.

In a matter of seconds it was our turn. Unlike many of the other kids who had walked before me, I did not loop my arm with Shawn's. I didn't need to link arms with anyone.

As Shawn and I exited the tunnel, cheers from a specific section of the stands met us. I searched for where it was coming from as we walked down the long aisle toward our chairs. I was confused; my mother was the only person who should be here for me. When I pinpointed where the cheers were coming from, I saw that they all had the same ginger curly hair that Shawn did. His family. Oh.

I heard a foghorn blare out and, wincing, saw that my mother was waving one in the air as she cheered for me. Then I realized that she stood right next to Eloise Fabray. Quinn's grandmother. She and my mother must have been seated next to each other. My stomach twisted when I recognized the child in Eloise arms. Her blonde curls, the precious dimples in her plump cheeks were discernable even from this distance. Beth Fabray. Quinn's daughter.

I had only seen Beth once before. It had been when I was at the grocery store, and Quinn was shopping, and Beth sat gurgling in the baby carrier carefully positioned in the grocery cart. I had half-hid behind a stack of brand-name cereal boxes and watched as Quinn pushed the cart along, cooing to her daughter as she walked. My heart had ached like crazy for nearly a fortnight after that day. I could not get the image of baby Beth out of my head. Although she could only have been about five months old at that time, she was a spitting image of her mother. The most of Puckerman I could see in her was the casual array her hair was in; the sparse golden curls were carelessly growing in a long pinnacled strip, one of those little Mohawks that babies sometimes had when their hair was growing in. It was adorable, and maybe that was part of the reason it caused me so much pain to see her. That was Quinn and Puck's baby. Not mine. I know I could never give her children in that way, but there had been a time where I would have given anything to have a family with her.

I swallowed hard in an attempt to bypass the lump that had formed in my throat. Shawn and I finally reached the aisle our seats were on; when we split, he headed toward the right side for his seat and I headed right for mine on the left. I crossed my legs and waited impatiently for the rest of my class to walk out and reach their own seats. Tina sat almost directly behind me. A couple rows ahead of me, I could see a glimpse of Quinn.

Soon the school administrators began to speak, and then the teachers. A few kids gave speeches, including Rachel Berry. They were mostly all the same, about what our future holds and how we would remember our cherished times here at William Mckinley High, yada yada yada. Rachel's was at least more entertaining since she addressed more of the outcasts, as she was the only non-popular girl to make a speech. I had been asked to make one and declined, and I knew that Quinn must have been asked too. Since we were both cheerleaders, it was a given that we would be asked. On top of that, she was also Valedictorian of the school. But she must have declined too, so it was up to the Salutatorian, Rachel, to deliver a good speech.

Rachel spoke about how joining Glee Club had really been an incredible experience that taught her about friendship and family, and gave her the faith to believe in herself, and kept her going strong even through all the slushie facials and all the insults and bullying. When she ended the speech, Principal Figgins took over the microphone and announced that the Glee Club National Champions were going to sing one last song on stage, and I frowned. No one had told me we were going to sing tonight, and judging by the lack of movement from Tina behind me and Quinn in front of me, I guessed no one else had been told either. Then Principal Figgins asked if all the Glee Club graduating members would please come to the stage, and we slowly stood and made our way up there.

When I reached the stage, I ended up standing between Mercedes and Brittany. Brittany smiled sadly at me, and I knew why. She was sorrowful because this was the last time our Glee Club would sing together in this school for an audience.

Rachel beamed at us before she came to stand in line with us. When the music started, I realized that it was When You Remember by Carrie Underwood. Mr. Shuester had us sing this song in one of our lessons a few weeks ago. He and Rachel must have planned for us to sing this at graduation all along, and hoped to surprise us with it. They definitely did. I was just glad they thought to make us sing it during a lesson, since before class I had not known the lyrics.

I guessed that this would be sung the same way it was during our lesson, since Rachel and Finn stepped forward. They sang first, their voices the lead as we all sang backup for their verse. "_When you look back on times we had, I hope you smile. And know that through the good and through the bad."_

Kurt and Blaine both stepped forward as Rachel and Finn stepped back into line. They smiled adorably at them before they opened their mouths to sing,their voices in perfect alto and soprano as they both sang,_ "I was on your side when nobody could hold us down. We claimed the brightest star, And we, we came so far. And no they won't forget."_

They stepped back, and now we all joined in, elevating our voices to be loud and strong. "_Whenever you remember times gone by, remember how we held our heads so high. When all this world was there for us, and we believed that we could touch the sky. Whenever you remember, I'll be there. Remember how we reached that dream together, whenever you remember."_

Puck and Sam stepped up, Puck nodding his mohawked head and Sam shaking his shaggy blonde hair out of his eyes before they sang, "_When you think back on all we've done, I hope you're proud, when you look back and see how far we've come."_

They stepped back and Tina took their place, Artie rolling forward to be beside her. "_It was our time to shine and nobody could hold us down; they thought they'd see us fall, but we, we stood so tall, and no we won't forget."_

They returned to the line and we all leapt in, our voices overpowering the auditorium. Everyone watching was in rapture, and I took a second to wonder if they would miss us. I know Mr. Shue definitely would, but I really wondered if, in this moment, the whole school may miss us._ "Whenever you remember times gone by, remember how we held our heads so high. When all this world was there for us, and we believed that we could touch the sky. Whenever you remember, I'll be there. Remember how we reached that dream together, whenever you remember."_

Now Mercedes stepped forward, her voice powerful and soulful. "_Yeah, Oh! We claimed the brightest star and we, we came so far."_

After she vocalized, she stepped back and I swiftly took her place. I relished how it felt as my lips parted for words to be sung out. This was my element, this was when I felt the most powerful. My voice was strong, sultry, and just as powerful as everyone else's, if not more powerful. "_You know that we, we showed them all. And no they won't forget. Yeah!"_

I stepped back, and together we all belted out the last chorus. "_Whenever you remember times gone by, remember how we held our heads so high. When all this world was there for us, and we believed that we could touch the sky. Whenever you remember, I'll be there. Remember how we reached that dream together, whenever you remember."_

The song dwindled down, and a few people in the audience hooted and cheered as the song made its way to the last few lines.

Sugar Motto, Rory and Joe all stepped forward to sing, "_Whenever you remember…" _

They stepped back and Quinn took their place. Her voice was pure and sweet, and gave me chills to listen to, simply because it was _her_ voice. "_Whenever you remember…"_

For the last line, we all raised our voices high and sang it as one perfect note. "_Oh, whenever you remember."_

We had sang our hearts out. The strongest voices were Rachel's, Mercedes', Blaine's, and mine, as usual. Right up there beside us was Artie's, Kurt's, and Finn's. The rest of the group blended in perfectly, with the exception of Mike and Brittany, who had opted to dance rather then sing. Although I hated to admit it, I loved hearing Quinn's pure, sweet alto ghosting behind our leads. I savored hearing Quinn sing. When we had been friends, it had been something we often enjoyed doing together. Singing in the car, singing in the kitchen, singing everywhere. When one of us would shower, the other would sit on the toilet clutching an iPod and speakers, and we would both sing along to the song. I missed that.

The auditorium erupted into cheers as the song ended with a bittersweet flourish; our last song as a Glee Club was over.

"Aw, look at Mr. Shue!" said Mercedes in a hushed voice, pointing at the row where teachers sat in their own gowns so I could see Mr. Shue standing up, clapping, tears in her eyes.

"What's new," I laughed, rolling my eyes. "The Vestaholic is always crying," I joked, but I'd be lying if I weren't actually a little moved. I had to admit, I would miss him. I would miss everyone. Thank God we still had the senior trip. If only I didn't have to deal with Quinn, I could look forward to it entirely…

We were ushered to our seats, and Principal Figgins thanked us before making a speech himself about what a pleasure it was to be principal of the wonderful William Mckinley High. Then Ms. Pillsbury began to call our names, one by one, and one by one we all walked across that stage to get our diplomas.

The celebration, throwing our caps and hugging one another afterwards, was even more bittersweet. Some of the people I couldn't believe were even graduating in the first place. Like Puck, for instance, who I watched fist pump Sam as he waved his cap in the air. He had barely passed his classes, and after a year of being held back, it wouldn't have surprised me if he didn't need held back an extra year. I embraced Brittany and hugged her tightly when she threw her arms around me. I really couldn't believe she had graduated. Though I did much of her homework for her, there was still a ton she hadn't done, and I was pretty sure that she failed all of her tests, so it was a downright miracle that she graduated. Maybe the teachers just didn't want to get her again; it probably became a little tedious after awhile, grading so many papers in the crayon that Britt preferred to write with.

"Yay!" she shouted gleefully, and seized my cap off my head and threw it high in the air.

"Britt!" Laughing, I broke away from her embrace to chase after my cap. When I plucked it up off the ground, another hand picked up the hat that had fallen next to mine. A pale, slender hand. I knew that hand.

I glanced up at Quinn as I slowly straightened. _Everything was fine and dandy one minute and then half a second later turns awkward,_ I thought in a grumble. She met my gaze for a brief second, and I felt as though her hazel eyes electrocuted me. Then she turned and disappeared into the crowd.

Now there was a real miracle. How on earth had Quinn managed to pass, and as Valedictorian to boot, with all that she had been through? This year, she had struggled as a single mom, coping with a baby and jobs and class. Last year she had dealt with the loss of her best friend, me…her sister dying, becoming pregnant, and getting kicked out of her home. And sophomore year, although no one but the two of us knew it, she had been dealing with a few…sexuality concerns. Yet here she had been today. Graduating. I had no idea where she was going, what college or what she planned to do in life. In fact, the only thing I knew about her was that I would see her in three days, sitting next to me on the plane.

I cleared my throat uncomfortably and went to find Brittany in the crowds, needing my friend. She was currently wrapped up in Sam's embrace, but I couldn't care less. I tapped on her shoulder, she saw my expression, and she immediately knew something was wrong with me.

"Can we get out of here?" I begged, and she nodded at once.

"Yeah," she said, putting her cap back on her head. "Do you want to go back to my house and help me get ready for the after-party?"

I nodded, desperate to be out of this place. "Yeah. Let me go talk to my mom and then we can go, okay?"

She nodded, darting forward to give me a quick kiss on the cheek. "Okay, meet me at the doors when you're done."

Swiftly, I weaved my way through the mass of red gowns, searching for my mother. When I heard the air horn sound somewhere from my left, I grimaced and headed there. She had probably grown impatient waiting for me.

It felt like hours, but finally I was out of there. As Brittany and I drove to her house, she turned the radio off and said in her soft voice, "Santana, what was wrong with you back there? Why did you need to get out of there?"

I took a deep breath, expelled it slowly. "Britt, I…I don't think I can talk about it."

Britt nodded and turned the radio back up. See, this was why I loved Brittany. While there were a lot of obvious things she didn't understand that perhaps she should, the things she did understand were things that no one else would perceive. She was a genius, in her own unique way.

"Thanks, Britt," I sighed.


	5. Hey Ya

**Chapter V**

* * *

**Quinn's POV**

Panic seemed to be stuck in my throat, my heart. I had only been apart from my baby for an hour, and the minutes felt like years. It was a little silly, since I didn't get to see her as much as I like to anyway, considering I go to school for nearly eleven hours (thanks to Cheerios practice) and then work from five to ten. Honestly, I only saw Beth for a couple hours in the morning, a brief half an hour between the end of school and Cheerios practice, and then I watched her sleep in the night. It was painful and I hated doing it, but it was something I had to do in order to ensure the welfare of my child.

I hitched my carry-on bag over my shoulder, following behind Mercedes as we boarded the plane. Santana was walking behind me, and I was currently trying my best not to look back at her. I was dreading the next eighteen hours in which I was required to sit next to her while flying. My stomach was literally nauseous with dismay. What if she talked to me? It would be stupid if I didn't; for one, I could make her mad, and if I know anything about Santana it's that she's not pleasant when she's angry. For two, I would be spending the next two weeks sharing a room with her, on top of spending the next eighteen sitting beside her on the plane. It would be incredibly counterproductive to pick a fight with the girl I'm basically glued to the hip with for half a month. I would just be civil to her, get through these next couple of weeks, and then that was probably the last I would ever see of her. I ignored the pang it gave me in my heart. Truthfully, I probably would not see her again. Even when were kids, she had always said she wanted to pursue a career in New York. Once upon a time, I had wanted to leave Ohio too. Get the hell away from my parents who were so controlling I constantly felt as though I were suffocating. Santana had been my haven then. When it became too much to bear, I would go spend the night at her house. Her parents weren't home often, particularly her father. Often she would go months at a time not seeing him because of his work in the hospital in the city. Her mother, meanwhile, was a financial analyst who made quite a bit of money, but she travelled often too. So when I stayed the night, it was generally only Santana, her nanny, and I although, unbeknownst to her parents, Santana would usually send her home early with tip. Without having to be under the watchful eye of an adult who has been told that we have a curfew, we could stay up all night watching movie marathons and eating junk food…among other things.

_ Damn it, don't think of that!_

All too soon, we were in our seats. In the seats directly in front of us were Mercedes and Joe, and in the seats right behind us were Kurt and Blaine. Santana and I avoided each other's gazes as we both buckled our seatbelts when the light switched on.

It was stiflingly awkward as the plane began to take off. Everyone around us was chattering animatedly, but Santana and I were silent, she staring out the window and me peering down at my clasped hands resting in my lap. I wished fervently that I had thought to grab my book out of my carry-on bag before I put it up overhead. But I would have to stand and climb all over Santana in order to reach it. So I was basically screwed for the next eighteen hours.

I settled back in my seat, deciding to just listen to the conversations around me as entertainment instead.

"Oh my God, I am_ so_ excited. I _cannot_ wait to strip off these clothes, grab my towel and hit the beach," said Mercedes from in front of me.

"I know," agreed Joe, who sat in front of her and had twisted around to face her and Sugar. "I can't wait to try surfing."

"Hey, with those dreads you might fit right in with all those islanders," joked Mercedes.

Joe laughed. "Maybe you guys should get some dreads too."

"No way!" scoffed Sugar.

"Oh, hell to the no, I'm not about to do anything that messes with this weave," said Mercedes, joining in on the laughter with Joe while Sugar merely looked disdainful.

Meanwhile, behind me, Kurt and Blaine had begun to sing "Leaving on a Jet Plane", and in the seats behind them were Tina and Mike rhythmically snapping their fingers and chortling.

I shifted my gaze around the plane, focusing on various members of my group. Rachel and Finn were cuddling. Puck and Artie were both listening to their iPods. Brittany and Sam were joking around; I couldn't understand what they were saying from our distance, but I could clearly see the way Brittany's light blue eyes lit up when Sam gently prodded the tip of her nose with his forefinger. Blaine, Kurt, Mike and Tina were still messing around behind me, and Mercedes, Sugar, Rory and Joe were still discussing what their plans were for the beach in front of me. Beside me, Santana continued to stonily gaze out of the window as our plane sailed through the sky.

I sighed, tipping my head back to rest on the headpiece of the chair. I had been on the plane for fifteen minutes and was already bored out of my mind.

_Only seventeen hours, forty-five minutes to go. Great._

I awoke sometime later. Upon checking the time on my phone, I saw that we'd been flying for seven hours. I was surprised that I had slept that long. It was nice, to have that long a nap. I never got a chance to nap, and when I slept for the night it was generally for only about six hours, so it was nice to just nap for even longer than that. I felt revived and refreshed as I stretched my arms, observing around the plane again. Everyone else had fallen asleep too. The sky outside was dark. To my uncomfortable surprise, it appeared as though Santana had not moved at all; she had remained stationary, continuing to stare out the window.

"You haven't moved?" I blurted out the words before I could stop myself.

Slowly, Santana turned to look at me. As our gazes met, I felt my heart shudder. It was the first proper time in almost a year that we had eye contact; it was also the first proper time in nearly a year that I had spoken to her.

"No," she finally said after a pregnant pause. "I slept a little earlier. I woke up about an hour ago."

"Oh," I said. It felt peculiar, like an alternate universe. It was the first conversation I'd had with my best friend in months. It was bizarre, and truth be told, it made me a little upset.

I looked down at my hands yet again and watched myself as I twiddled my own thumbs. I was so uncomfortable. I did not like talking to Santana, and I wasn't the biggest fan of her period anymore, either. Not just because of the history between us, but also because of the fact that through everything I've been through, she never once contacted me in anyway. I guess being the best of friends for six years doesn't mean as much to some people.

"Um. Are you…" She merely frowned at me as she nervously wet her lips, appearing uncertain as to what she was about to say. I hated how it made my heart kick, seeing her tongue poke out. Ridiculous, I told myself. "Are you, um, looking forward to being at the ocean again?"

She was referring to California, where I had lived until I was nearly eight years old. "Um…somewhat," I answered unsteadily.

I was so torn between how I was supposed to be acting and how I felt. On one hand, I wanted to punch her. Literally, I wanted to punch her right in the face. This bitch was supposed to have been my best fucking friend, and she had not spoken to me hardly at all in for the past nearly two years. For the first three months before Frannie died and Santana and I didn't speak, that I could understand. That was about what happened between us. But when my sister died and Santana didn't even stop by to offer me her condolences, well, that was reprehensible. But that didn't even offend me half as much as it did that I gave birth to the most beautiful, perfect baby girl in the entire world, and Santana did not stop by to visit and had never, in fact, ever even been bothered to meet Beth. That was truly unforgivable.

She seemed to be having similar second thoughts about our conversation, because after my reply, she nodded her head almost imperceptibly and turned to look out the window again. Pain racked through me, which straightaway set me on fire. In an instant, I was pissed off. How absolutely ridiculous, that of all people I got stuck with _her _for the next two weeks?

It was definitely going to be the biggest pain in the ass vacation of my life.

* * *

**Santana's POV**

_How awkward is this? _

_I have the worst luck in the world._

_Fuck._

Those were the three foremost thoughts I was having during the entire flight to Maldives. I could not believe the situation I was in. On an eighteen hour journey sitting next to the girl who tore out your heart and crushed it into a million tiny pieces was probably enough to make anyone want to jump off the plane with no parachute strapped on your back. I could _not _believe it.

I couldn't believe that I had to watch her kiss her admittedly adorable daughter goodbye in the airport, I couldn't believe I had to stand next to her in line to give in our tickets, I couldn't believe I had to walk behind her the whole way on to the plane where her ass was just right there in front of me, begging my gaze to zero in on it every time I tried to look somewhere else. I couldn't believe how awkward the first half hour was when everyone was so excited chatting and Quinn and I just sat there in silence with tension so thick you couldn't even cut it with a knife, and I couldn't believe that when she fell asleep, _her head had dropped onto my shoulder._

I was going to try to shift her off of me, I really was. But I was afraid that if I did, she would wake and freak out over it or something. I hated the fact that it had stung my eyes with tears and put terror in my soul, my soul that I had so carefully reconstructed after she shattered it nearly two years ago. I was immensely grateful when finally her head rolled to the other side, and she slept for another twenty minutes.

Until now. She just woke. _Damn._ Luck was not on my side. Actually, I don't think luck has ever been on my side. I grew up with a shitty dad who was never there and, when he was there, was a controlling man who liked to use his words to beat you down, a cold grandmother who dropped me the moment she found out I was a lesbian, a best friend who had always teased me by basically giving me a relationship that revolved around the basic gist of her putting her hand close to mine and then yanking it away when I moved to hold it, and then that best friend dropped me too. Add that in with a crazy cheer coach constantly belittling me, an entire school that spread a false rumor that I'd gotten a boob job around like wildfire, a Glee club that preferred every solo to go to a fame-crazed hobbit over anyone else regardless of their talent, and a dozen other things that drove me crazy and my life was basically a giant pot of shit and misery.

_But no pity parties,_ I told myself steely. It doesn't matter what's going on now or what's happened in the past, because in just three months I'll be in New York City, living my dreams. I don't know what I'll do, but whatever it is I'll be happy. I'll prove to my grandmother and my father that I don't need them and never have. I'll prove to everyone that I can do it. I'll make Quinn wish she had taken me when she had the chance.

_Fucking hell, stop thinking about her._

I drive myself crazy. I mean seriously, it's been two years and I'm still pining over her. I've been with a dozen girls since her. I was with Brittany for a good year. I was with Charlie and Audrey for a couple months apiece. Then there were a bunch of other girls. Quinn and I had a thing for hardly three months; why should I be so obsessed with her…

_No more pining,_ I told myself firmly. No more pity parties. _New York!_ From now on I would just focus on the positives.

"Hey girls," said Rachel Berry as she came and crouched in the aisle, putting her hand on Quinn's knee as she said in an excited, hushed voice, "We've decided to throw an impromptu performance. Are you in?"

I peered over Rachel's shining brunette head at where Finn was hunched over whispering to Puck and Artie. Kurt and Blaine stood behind him, both practically twittering with excitement. Quinn sighed, but I sat up straighter. I would always look forward to a bit of singing.

"I'm in," I said, and Rachel practically beamed.

"Great! We're not really going for a show-talent type of thing; this is just for fun, since it's probably one of the last times we'll be doing it on a plane with all of us, as on the way back, both Sugar and Rory won't be flying back with us. Sugar's going to stay for an extra week and meet her parents there, and Rory will be flying back to Ireland."

I nodded in understanding and even Quinn did too, after some reluctance.

"We'll be doing that performance we worked on a few weeks ago, Hey Ya by Outkast. It doesn't really matter where our placements are, but remember your vocals and your solos." Rachel stood, beaming as she smoothed down her blouse. "Meet at the back in ten minutes!"

She hurried a few rows ahead of us and began whispering to Mercedes, Sugar, Joe and Rory at the same time while behind us, Finn was murmuring to Mike and Tina and the row besides us Blaine and Kurt were speaking in hushed tones to Brittany and Sam.

I couldn't help glancing at Quinn out of the corners of my eyes; she looked, as usual, completely bored. My agitation with her only increased at these moments. Was there _anything_ that held her interest? Deciding to just ignore her, I fumbled for my bag overhead, found it and fished my compact mirror out of one of the zippers. I observed my reflection and was satisfied upon seeing that my short nap didn't muss my hair or smudge my eyeliner. Then I returned my bag to its place and sat and waited the other eight minutes until Quinn and I both stood and made our way to the back of the plane.

There was silence in the plane, and gradually the strangers who had sat interspersed between all of we Glee club all noticed the several empty seats and shifted their gaze around the plane, nervous or curious. Then our entire group began to chant vocals, singing acapella, and Artie rolled forward to start us off.

* * *

**Quinn's POV**

_"__One, two, three, uh!"_

Rachel moved forward, weaving her head as she sang the first lines in her strong voice. _"My baby don't mess around because he loves me so and this I know for sure."_

Finn came out from behind her, that annoyingly charming half-smirk on his face as he snapped his fingers in tune to the music. Fortunately his singing was much better than his poor dancing. _"But does she really wanna, but can't stand to see me walk out the door."_

From the other row, Kurt and Blaine both came out, Kurt walking forward with a bounce and a shoulder-shimmy while Blaine glided, effortlessly suave. _"Don't try to fight the feelin', 'cause the thought alone is killing me right now." _It was surprising how well his high-pitched voice matched the tempo of the song.

Compared to Kurt's elevated, sweet voice, Blaine's was rich and smooth. _"I thank God for Mom and Dad for sticking two together, 'cause we don't know how."_

Now we all danced out into the aisles, some dancing better than the others. Most of us just bounced and swayed, and I did too. Brittany and Mike were being ridiculous as usual, rolling their bodies and hopping over seats with ease, as though they had all the energy in the world. Sam and Santana were the strippers of the group, or so I liked to jokingly think, by the style of dancing they did. Except it wasn't that funny when it came to Santana. The way she moved her body, she practically emitted sensuality. And as she sang the chorus with the rest of us, her voice was one of the easiest to hear, a sultry, powerful sound. It sent hot shivers down my body with each individual note.

_"__Hey... ya._

_Hey ya._

_Hey... ya._

_Hey ya._

_Hey... ya._

_Hey ya._

_Hey... ya._

_Hey ya."_

The audience was entertaining. While a couple people looked annoyed, most of them were laughing and clapping their hands together in enthusiasm.

Sam's solo was next. He gyrated his hips as he sang, _"You think you've got it. Oh, you think you've got it, but got it just don't get it 'til there's nothing at all."_

Now Santana stepped up and I felt my stomach and my heart squeeze. God, the way she looked out at our audience from beneath her thick lashes, the confident smirk on her face and the way her dimples were so obvious and cute in her face. I hated what she could do to me, and I hated even more how wet she could still make me when we haven't even had more than a minute long conversation in the past two fucking years.

_"We get together, oh, we get together, but separate's always better when there's feelings involved_." As she sang her line, somehow she glanced over the aisles and met my gaze, and I felt fearful that a heat could be channeling from me. Still though, despite the arousal it gave me, the words she sang rang far too close to the truth.

My line was too close to the truth too. I opened my mouth and swayed as I sang my solo, carefully avoiding looking at Santana. _"If what they say is 'nothing is forever', then what makes, then what makes, then what makes us happy?"_

Mercedes' solo was next, and her voice was packed with soul and strength. _"Then what makes, what makes, what makes love the exception?"_

Tina sang the next line. _"So why you, why you, why you, why you, why you, are we so in denial."_

Mike didn't pause from his dancing as he turned, his arms waving in the air as though they were made out of liquid. _"When we know we're not happy here..."_

The crowd cheered wildly as Brittany twisted around, dropping into the splits as she exclaimed,_ "Y'all don't want me here, you just wanna dance!"_

Then we were all either humming or singing as we hit the chorus again.

First the girls, including Kurt, sang, while the boys sang the background. _"Hey... ya. (OH OH)."_

Then we reversed, and the boys sang while we sang the background. _"Hey ya. (OH OH)."_

We all joined together to sing the chorus now. _"Hey... ya."_

_"(Don't want to meet your daddy, OH OH,)"_ purred Santana, making my heart pound. God, she was so hot it was stupid.

_"Hey ya."_

_"(Just want you in my Caddy, OH OH),"_ chanted Sam.

_"Hey... ya."_

_"(OH OH, don't want to meet yo' mama, OH OH)," _vocalized Mercedes.

_"Hey ya."_

Puck's line was so fitting. _"(Just want to make you cumma, OH OH.)"_

_"Hey... ya."_

Rachel's turn. _"(I'm, OH OH, I'm, OH OH.)"_

_"Hey ya."_

Of course Finn followed after her. _"(I'm just being honest, OH OH, I'm just being honest.)"_

Artie rolled forward while the rest of us increased the tempo of our chanting. Artie loved to 'get his rap on', to quote his own words.

_"Hey, alright now, alright now fellas yeah!"_ Artie waved his hands in the air as he rapped the words_. "Now what's cooler than bein' cool?"_

_"(ICE COLD!)"_ the rest of us shouted.

_"I can't hear ya', I say what's, what's cooler than bein' cool?"_

_A few of our audience members in their seats even joined in with us. "(ICE COLD!)"_

_"Whooo..."_

We each spoke up here, all of us speaking one word in quick succession. _"Alright, alright, alright, alright, alright, alright, alright, alright, alright, alright, alright, alright, alright, alright!"_

Puck stepped forward now, his typical 'I'm a hardass' expression on his face. _"Okay now ladies—"_

_"(Yeah!)"_ all of the girls replied.

_"Now we gon' break this thing down in just a few seconds; now don't have me to break this thing down for nothing! Now I wanna see y'all on your baddest behavior—"_

Sugar popped her hand into the air, grinning from ear to ear as she sang, albeit in a horribly incorrect voice, _"Lend me some sugar, I am your neighbor!"_

Puck finished his solo, _"Uh! Here we go now..."_

And then Artie took over. _"Shake it, shake, shake it, shake it!"_

_"(Oh oh),"_ a few of us sang.

_"Shake it, shake it, shake, shake it, shake it, shake it!"_

_"(Oh oh)."_

We all joined in now. _"Shake it, shake it like a Polaroid Picture, shake it, shake it_

_Shh you got to, shake it, shh shake it, shake it, got to shake it_

_"(Shake it sugar),"_ intoned Sugar again.

_"Shake it like a Polaroid Picture!"_

Santana's and Mercedes' turn. Time for the soulsisters to have their fun.

_"Now all Beyoncé's and Lucy Liu's,"_ vocalized Mercedes.

_"And baby dolls, get on the floor!"_ sang Santana.

_"(Get on the floor),"_ the rest of us chanted.

Santana and Mercedes' both sang together now_. "You know what to do. You know what to do. You know what to do!"_

All the girls and boys both took turns singing the main lines and the backgrounds as we finished out the song.

_"Hey... ya. (OH OH!)_

_Hey ya. (OH OH!)_

_Hey... ya. (OH OH!)_

_Hey ya. (Uh oh, Hey ya!)_

_Hey... ya. (OH OH!)_

_Hey ya. (Uh, uh, OH OH!)_

_Hey... ya. (OH OH!)_

_Hey ya. (OH OH!)"_

The people we had been singing for burst into utterly entertained applause, huge grins on their faces. Even the stewardess, who had walked in most likely to ask us to return to our seats but had changed her mind, was clapping and smiling. Then she did ask us to return to our seats and we happily complied, cheered with our success. Only one man seemed like he didn't enjoy it, and that was probably because he was an old codger.

Then we were in our seats, and it was awkward again. Santana and I were both catching our breath, which meant that all I could hear was the sound of our quick, rapid breathing intermingled. It reminded me of the days when that was all I wanted to listen too…

_Snap out of it,_ I told myself. _Seriously, you've been conscious around Santana for what, two hours now and you've been turned on how many times now?_

_She left you. She probably hates you. So leave it alone._

I needed to leave it alone. Santana could obviously give me nothing more than pain and heartache, not only by her absence but by her attitude toward me. This whole trip would go a lot smoother if I just tried to avoid her as much as possible...

* * *

**A/N: Hey guys, I realize this chapter had a lot of negative emotions from Quinn and Santana, but don't worry, things are going to pick up soon :) You'll see some fighting soon...but also some nice little flashbacks coming up... ;)  
So stay tuned, and I hope you've enjoyed FOF so far! **


	6. Confrontation

**A/N: Just to clarify in case anyone is confused by the dates; Santana and Quinn became more than friends around the middle of their Sophomore year; they began "dating" over the summer before Junior year, and then ended it in August of Junior year. In September, Frannie died. In October, Quinn became pregnant with Beth. Right now the story is taking place with them just having graduated, and the seniors (which is everyone who is going on the senior trip. That means in this story, Rory, Joe, Sugar, Sam, Tina, Artie etc are all seniors) are taking their trip from May 26****th****- June 9****th****, 2 weeks. Quinn and Santana have not spoken in a year and ten months. **

**Hope you've enjoyed it so far, there's more to come! **

**Also, (note made on July 13th) if you've read this chapter, I suggest you reread it. I added a bunch more :)**

**Chapter VI**

* * *

**Quinn's POV**

Maldives was beautiful.

Our resort was just off the coast; literally, you walk out the front door and you're on the ocean. It was like it's own miniature island, and you can walk down a long deck to reach the beach. It was absolutely gorgeous. I made a mental note to save up money for this in the future and take my grandmother and Beth here on a vacation, once Beth was old enough to enjoy it. I would definitely have to pay for some swimming lessons first, because there was no way I was having a heart attack every time she neared the water.

Everyone received the keys to their rooms and went to unpack, agreeing that we would all meet in the lobby in approximately two hours to go get dinner. That was when the awkwardness really began.

Santana and I both stood in the hallway in front of the door to our room, clutching our suitcases. Our eyes flickered to each other before deliberately sliding off to fixate on the door. _What are we waiting for?_ I thought in frustration, as the silence between us grew stifling as a minute passed.

"You have the key," she told me calmly.

_Oh. _I quickly fumbled around in my jeans pocket, fishing out the key. I practically tumbled into the room as I unlocked the door.

Santana and I simultaneously exhaled our appreciation. The room was beautiful. It was spacious, with the beds placed one near the door and bathroom and one near the far window. Both were large and covered in billowing red sheets. The mini-fridge wasn't mini at all, but rather the size of me, and sat gleaming black at the foot of the bed near the window, between it and a huge closet area. This looked more like a dorm room than it did a hotel room.

I was brought back to life when Santana cleared her throat. "I'll take this bed," she said, tossing her suitcase on the bed nearest her.

I walked over to the other bed, the one near the window. "Alright," I said, dropping my suitcase down on it. It bounced slightly, unlike when she dropped hers on her bed and it seemed to sink before slowly rising. When I lifted a knee and pushed down on it, the mattress creaked loudly. I looked back over my shoulder at Santana, who was already lounging on her bed, not bothering to unpack yet. She shot me a lofty smirk, and I scowled before turning my attention back to the issue at hand. Carefully, I climbed onto my bed. The springs in the mattress sounded like a chalkboard's death by nails. I winced as even a slight movement by me roused the noise. Wonderful.

I spied the television remote on the windowsill and seized it. She may have the better bed, but at least I had the controls to the TV. I turned it on, and we both watched in silence as I flicked through the channels. Most of them were shows where the dialogue was spoken in a foreign language, but a couple shows were spoken in English, and a few others at least had English subtitles. The only show that was familiar to me, however, was SpongeBob SquarePants.

Finally, after an hour wiling away time, I climbed out of bed, ignoring the noise and ignoring Santana's self-satisfied smirk, and began to unpack. Even that only took about half an hour, with another thirty minutes to go before it was time to leave. Santana went to take a shower, and I sat in silence, waiting. I was more than relieved when my grandmother called me on the cheap go-phone I had bought before I left, to avoid paying an outrageous price for long-distance calls on my cellphone. I answered it and swiftly stepped out of the room and into the hallway.

"Hey, Nana."

"Hiya, Quinnie. How's Maldives?"

"It's gorgeous. We're literally right on the ocean. How are you and Beth doing?"

"We're doing just fine, I just fed her and now I'm putting her to sleep. She needs a nap. She's been a little grumpy cause she misses her mama! Ain't that right?" I smiled broadly as I heard Beth cooing, though it was faint through the phone.

"Let me talk to her," I said, and grinned as Beth gurgled through the phone at me. I could picture my grandmother holding the receiver up to Beth's ear and encouraging her in her baby voice. After a minute of that, my grandmother took the phone back.

"She's so darn cute, I could just keep her in my pocket," she drawled.

"Well please don't," I laughed. To be honest, I had been planning on quilting my grandmother an apron with a giant front pocket in it that Beth would fit in. My grandmother would crack up and Beth would love it, riding around in it all over the house with my grandmother. My quilting skills weren't quite up to par yet, but I hoped I would be good enough by the time Christmas rolled around.

"So, Quinnie…I've been meaning to talk to you about something."

My stomach immediately clenched at the solemnness my grandmother's tone had taken. "What? What is it? What's happened?"

"No, no, nothing to do with Beth or me," my grandmother assured me, and I relaxed a little.

"Oh. What is it, then?"

My grandmother hesitated before speaking. "Your daddy called."

Ice flooded through me as the implications of her words impacted me. My father called. He wanted to speak to me.

Once upon a time, those words would have sent a pounding rage though me. For the first several months after my father kicked me out, I hated him. Now, however, all I could muster was a sense of cold disdain and indifference. He was my biological father, not my dad. No dad would have kicked his daughter out a mere three months after the death of her older sister, even if she were pregnant. And besides, even before then, it wasn't as though he'd been much of a dad anyway. He was always gone to his stupid political meetings, and when he was home, all he did was try to control every aspect of my life. He would approve or disapprove of what I would wear to school and to Sunday church, telling me that any dress I wore that cut off on my thighs made me look like a harlot, while anything I wore that completely covered me from my neck down made me look like a nun. He would approve or disapprove of what I ate for lunch and dinner, telling me not to eat like a damn rabbit nibbling away at carrots or salad, but not to eat like a man with large portions or too much junk food because I would get fat. What used to really piss me off was when he tried to tell me off for hanging out with Santana, because he disliked that she wasn't white. I swear if we were still in a time of racial segregation, my father would have led the KKK. He was ridiculous. Every time he spoke of Santana, I made some excuse to leave the room. It was the one thing I constantly disobeyed him on, and he actually let it slide, perhaps because her father was a prominent doctor. But he still didn't like Santana. If he knew now that I didn't see her, it would probably be something he would be enthused about. Not that it matters. In my eyes, Santana is not the same Santana I knew two years ago. This new Santana was bitter and vindictive, and clearly didn't care who she hurt. The old Santana may have been a little mean, but she was still at least kind at heart. And she never would have hurt or abandoned me in a thousand years.

"What did he want?" I asked evenly.

"To talk to you. I didn't really gather much of what he said because I was just shocked he called. He was mad you changed your number because he thinks a father should be able to call his daughter whenever he wants. He mentioned something about running for governor of Ohio, something about being a state representative and official, and he needed his daughter to be respectful and cautious in the public eye or something, but he didn't get to finish because I cut him off. I just told him to go to hell."

I blew out a long breath, reaching up and rubbing the back of my neck. "That's what I would've told him the minute he called me," I admitted, laughing nervously. I wasn't sure exactly why. I guess it was the stress.

"I know. I would've said it sooner, but I was just in shock. Haven't heard the man's voice in years, and just out of the blue…"

"I understand, Nana. Thank you for…you know."

"I know, honey," my grandmother said sympathetically. "Well, Beth's getting sleepy, finally, so I'm going to let you go. Try to have fun, okay? Lord knows you needed a vacation."

I gave a sad smile as my heart ached. I don't know what I would do without my grandmother. She was one of the best people in the world. "I love you, Nana."

"I love you too, baby. Talk to you later."

"Bye," I said, and pressed End.

Back in the room, it looked like Santana had already blow-dried her hair, applied her makeup and dressed, then had fallen asleep in her bed. I couldn't resist halting, my eyes trained on the way her chest gently rose and fell with her breathing. Her hair was a tumbled black cloud around her face, and her lips were parted slightly, just so I could see a glimpse of white. I felt pain reverberate with each beat of my heart.

There was a knock on the door that made me jump guiltily, and I bolted across the room, fleeing Santana's bed before she could wake and find me there.

"Guys! Time to go eat!" came Rachel's excited voice, muffled through the door. "Whoo!"

A moment later, I heard her knocking on another door and saying the same thing, rousing everyone for dinner. The knock and Rachel's voice had not woken Santana, however. She had always been a ridiculously heavy sleeper, proving nearly impossible to wake unless you physically shook her, and even that didn't work sometimes. More often than not, I had been forced to splash water on her face and she would wake spluttering and furious. Later, I had found a much more effective way of waking her…and one that she definitely didn't wake angry about.

Obviously that way was completely out of the question…so I'd have to just wing it.

"Santana," I said gently, moving to her and putting a hand on her shoulder, shaking her. Though there was a blanket between our skin, the fact that it was her warm body beneath my hand sent a current through me. I swallowed, uncomfortable. She just needed to hurry up and wake up. I shook her again, and whispered, "Wake up. San." My cheeks burned as I realized I just called her by a nickname. I opened my mouth to remedy, to call her by her full name, but it was too late. Her lashes fluttered as her eyes opened, and I felt another current, an electrified heat, pulsate through my veins as my eyes met hers.

* * *

**Santana's POV**

"Santana."

I woke slowly, frowning as my mind tried to grasp reality in its sleepy state. My stomach immediately felt as though it was being punched in, the drag in it was so long and intense the moment I recognized her voice, spoke low in a husky whisper. "San."

My eyes opened, and that drag in my belly turned into a sharp, stabbing heat that traveled down and pooled between my legs. Those were the almond-shaped hazel eyes that haunted my dreams every night and my every waking moment.

Before I could even stop myself, before my mind made any conscious effort to even regain control over myself, I pushed myself up into a sitting position, craning my neck as I tilted my chin up, my lips parting and a breath expelling from me. Then I realized what I was doing, and jerked myself back, horrified. The blood drained from my face and my eyes widened, my gaze on Quinn turning petrified instead. I was completely and utterly mortified as I realized that I had just moved to, what? Kiss her? Pull her into bed with me?  
_ God._

"Um." Her voice was low, and I literally nearly gasped under the weight of the ache inside my body as I watched her eyes flicker from mine to my lips. Fury rose within me as suddenly and instantaneously as the thought that had plagued me for the past four years.

_She fucking wants me. _

Not just in a sexual way. I mean that Quinn fucking wanted me, as more than a friend and, now, as more than just an enemy. I swear to _God_, _nothing_ infuriated me more. How _dare_ she want more with me? After breaking my heart, lying to me, and never talking to me again, she had the fucking _balls_ to look at me the way she was right now? Like she _wanted _me to pull her into my bed.

I set my jaw, clenching my teeth so tightly together it hurt. I was a second away from seizing her by the wrist and yanking her into my bed anyway, a second away from smashing our lips together, just to spite her. Just to listen to her moan against my lips, feel her body arch into mine, sense the obvious lust taking over her. But I couldn't, I _could not_ listen to her speak the opposite of how she was acting, _could not_ stand to hear her speak one word about how she didn't want to be doing what we were doing. I couldn't bear listening to her lie to me again. I couldn't.

"What?" I snarled at her.

Her brows moved down, contracted. Her eyes turned hurt, then angry, and her mouth moved into a thin line. Before she could open it and snarl back at me, someone knocked insistently on our door.

"Guys, come on! I made reservations!" complained Rachel.

"We're fucking coming, hobbit!" I barked, and the knocking ceased.

"Well, not exactly," retorted Quinn sarcastically, and I widened my eyes in disbelief and outrage. She had spoken without thinking, obviously, and she looked away, down at the floor. Then she took a few steps back before completely turning, walking to her side of the room and grabbing her tiny purse to clutch in her hand.

"You'd be so fucking lucky," I sneered at her, and felt a vengeful satisfaction in the way her cheeks turned red. She had no response to that, and simply yanked open the door and stormed out.

Alone in the room, I forced myself to breathe in and out slowly, trying to calm myself down. It was difficult to associate myself with all the insanity that had just happened. Quinn had spoken my name, and not just my name, but a nickname. Or had I dreamt that? And then, I'd woken up to her standing over my bed. And my automatic reaction had been to almost reach for her. And she looked at my lips. Then made a pervy innuendo when I told Rachel we were coming.

_"Well, not exactly."_

Well, Quinn, you exactly fucking wish you were.

I got up and muttered angry things at Quinn as I moved around my things, collecting my purse and wallet as well as my half-dead cellphone. By the time I emerged into the hallway and everyone else was packed in, chattering on excitedly about where we were and how nice our hotel rooms were, I was in so foul a mood that I could barely tolerate anyone. It was only when Brittany came over to me, obviously sensing my mood, and gripped my hand, and I began to calm down.

We were going to some seafood restaurant, which I wasn't looking forward too. Not only because of the angry tension between Quinn and I, but because seafood smelled and tasted fucking nasty.

At the restaurant, Quinn and I were yet again forced into close proximaty when I had no other choice but to take the unoccupied seat across from hers. We avoided each other's gazes, instead glaring the menus as we tried to decide what we wanted without lunging across the table and choking one another.

To make matters worse, whoever the hell our waitress was could not keep her eyes off Quinn. As she took everyone's drink orders, the smile she gave Quinn was too warm, too coy. That bitch was flirting with her. _Didn't she know Quinn was 'straight?' Bitch bitch bitch._

And she was a ginger. That just made it even worse.

_Ginger bitch._

When the waitress handed out the drinks, I watched her eyes wander down the top of the dress Quinn wore. Rachel had forced us all to dress up before we left, and I hadn't appreciated that, either. Quinn's dress was not overtly revealing, but her cleavage was evident, and I didn't like the way our waitress was staring at it. 'Lola' was the name on her nametag. What a gay ass fucking name. Why was there even a Lola here in the first place? You would have thought there'd be fucking natives around, not white American ginger bitches named Lola who have nothing better to do with their lives than to flirt with beautiful blondes who _obviously are not into them._

Or was she? Quinn was returning the woman's smiles, but I couldn't tell if they were genuine or Quinn was just being polite. Either way, I didn't care too much because it still incensed me.

When Quinn gave her order, Lola winked at her. _She actually fucking winked at her._

That was it, that was the last straw. I was about to go all Lima Heights Adjacent on this ginger bitch's ass.

No, no. Just chill out. It doesn't matter if she's flirting with Quinn. One, this woman obviously has no chance with her. It would be like me dating Artie. Socially speaking, it didn't even make sense because I was so far out of his league, just like Quinn was way out of this woman's league. Two, Quinn obviously wasn't going to do anything. Not only did she live in another country than this woman, but she had a child at home. And I mean hell, she was so embarrassed already just from Kurt and Blaine suggesting the waitress had a crush on her. She would never flirt back.

But the way she was smiling was so flirty…

And then it clicked, if not out of reasoning then out of the hard glares Quinn shot me every now and then. She was _trying_ to piss me off.

She was succeeding.

When we had finished eating and were leaving, I lingered behind. I listened as Lola went up to Quinn, asked for her number. And that was fucking it. I had to say something.

I beelined it straight for the two of them, determined to say something that would hurt and embarrass.

* * *

**Quinn's POV**

I was in such a bad mood.

First, my father calling my grandmother. I mean, really? I had not spoken to my father since he kicked me out when he discovered I was pregnant with Beth. At the end of June, when Beth would turn one. In September it would officially be two years since my father and I exchanged words. I had no idea what he could want with me now. My grandmother seems to think it's for some political reasons, since he wanted to run for governor of Ohio. It probably was. Still, it made my heart clench painfully. Even if he was a complete asshole who had abandoned me and never truly loved me in the first place, I couldn't help but to miss him. Or perhaps I miss what could have been. I don't know. Either way, it didn't put me in the best of moods, and couple that with the semi-fight Santana and I had gotten in in our room, and I was downright irritable. So by the time we were all walking down the deck to wander along the beach for the restaurant, I wasn't in the mood to listen to anyone's bullshit.

Mercedes, Kurt and Blaine were all laughing as they sung vocals Christina Aguiliara-style. Rachel was all over Finn, as usual, and Tina was riding on Mike's back. Brittany was holding Sam's hand with her left, and using her right to clutch Santana's. I wondered how Sam felt about that, about how even though he and Brittany had been dating for the past year, she was still constantly seen being affectionate with her ex-girlfriend. I wondered if it intimidated him. I mean hell, it was _Santana_; the girl was practically sex on a stick, she was so hot. Or maybe he didn't mind because he got threesomes out of it. I don't know if that's true, but it wouldn't surprise me. I knew Santana was revolted by penises and found them more disgusting and funny than sexy and desirable, but maybe she mostly focused on Brittany and Sam just watched and got off to that.

I shook my head with a shudder, hoping no one walking around me noticed. I so did not want to be thinking about that kind of crap._ Damn it, brain._

Finally we reached the restaurant. It was cool because the ground was still sand, but it smelled very fishy inside, which made perfect sense considering it was a seafood place and it was on the beach right near the ocean. I glanced at Santana as everyone perused the menu and was unsurprised to see her nose wrinkled in disgust; she had always hated seafood.

Our waitress was a curvy red-headed woman whose nametag read "Lola". She took everyone's orders and when she reached me, she smiled amiably, her blue eyes lingering on my face long enough to make me feel a little warm and uncomfortable.

"And what for you, sweetheart?" she asked, holding her pen and her notepad at the ready.

It was a little awkward being called that by her, considering usually it was only older people who said such a thing, and she appeared to be around the same age as me, perhaps a little younger or a little older. In fact, it was so unusual seeing a pale-skinned ginger woman here, one obviously American by her accent, where I had expected to see brown-skinned people with native tongues, that the whole thing had me a little flustered. Of course, the fact that 'Lola' was obviously flirting with me didn't help.

"Um…I'll have the shrimp alfredo, thank you," I said, handing her my menu.

She winked. "Coming right up, darling." Then she addressed the rest of the table. "Is there anything else I can help someone with?"

Everyone shook their heads and chanted 'no thank you', and Lola spared me one last smile before gliding off to give the cook our orders. I noticed a few people smirking at me, and Blaine and Kurt teased me that maybe I should tip the waitress a little extra, but I ignored them, choosing not to dignify that with a response. I cleared my throat uncomfortably, taking a sip of my water. I was all too aware of Santana glaring at me.

After we ate and were all about to leave, Lola caught up to me at the door and offered me her number. I was flustered and flabbergasted and had just started to kindly reject her offer when Santana slunk up to my side.

"Actually, Lola, I'm afraid that Quinn here is already taken. She has a kid at home, and the daddy just walked out the door. So, sorry boutcha, but move along." I was frozen, appalled, as Santana waved her hands at the waitress, who looked offended and a little embarrassed. "Move it."

As the waitress walked on, Santana turned on her heel and strode out the door. I stood shell-shocked for a moment before I spun around and hurried after the group. I was livid now. How humiliating, not only for me but for the waitress as well. I was stunned Santana could stoop that low. I mean really, I'd hardly spoken a word to the girl, and _that_ just happened? What the fuck? I couldn't even believe it.

When we went back to our resort, Rachel informed us all that the first night here we could do whatever we wanted, go to sleep or hit the beach or anything, but tomorrow night would be spent playing group games in the lobby. I stormed to my room the moment we were released, and waited in bed for Santana to come up too. When she did, she went and plopped down on her bed without a word. I waited with bated breath, anger pumping through me as the silence increased. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore.

I sprang to my feet, pointing a finger threateningly at Santana. "You had no right to act the way you did. That was immature and rude."

"You know all about immature and rude, don't you?" she said contemptuously, getting to her feet, too. "Quinn Fucking Fabray, the perfect student and the perfect cheerleading captain and the perfect mother and just little miss all around perfect. No one knows just how immature and rude_ you_ are, except me, because I know you best."

"You don't know me at all," I snarled. "You haven't even talked to me in almost two years. The last time we were friends, I had just broken up Finn Hudson only a few months before and just made it back onto the varsity Cheerios team. My entire life has changed since then. I'm not even close to being the same person."

"I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing considering how shitty of a person you were before then," she sneered.

_Don't get hurt by that,_ I told myself. _She's just pissed off at you for what you what happened nearly two years ago. She's just trying to get under your skin. Don't give her the satisfaction._

"I don't care what you have to say, Santana. You don't know me, and apparently you didn't know me back then, either."

"Apparently not," said Santana, and there was croakiness to her voice now even despite how she tried to cover it up with apathy in her next words, "No one knew you. You didn't _let_ anyone know you. Especially me."

"What is_ that _supposed to mean?" I wrung my hands in my frustration. "No one knew me better than you. We were together all the time. I told you nearly everything. You were my best friend. I lov—" I halted, catching myself before it was too late. That was a word that, after everything that happened between us, had a whole new meaning. I could no longer use that word with her, if not because of the pain it gave me then because of the many implications the word now possessed.

Santana, however, had noticed. She visibly swallowed hard, and her lids narrowed over eyes dulled in pain. Then she seemed to snap back to herself, doing what she typically did and putting ice and heat on as a cold outer shell. Her bitch-armor, as I liked to call it. "I didn't have a clue who you were, actually, Quinn. I only knew who I wanted you to be."

My heart thudded painfully in my chest and I felt ice crystallize in my veins. She knew the consequences that what she was saying would have on me. She knew of my issues with trying to be what other people wanted me to be. My whole childhood had been spent trying to be my father's ideal of perfection, and where did that get me? Failing miserably and becoming broken and homeless as a result.

Incensed and affronted that she would go that far to hurt me, I turned and stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door behind me.

I was grateful I had decided earlier to bring my clothes I would wear in here. I took a shower, letting the water grow so hot it burned my skin. I took my time, and I was so angry with Santana that I even went so far as to use her shampoo and conditioner, and dump the rest of it down the shower drain.

I felt as though I was about to have a heatstroke as I dressed myself. My shower had been so hot that the entire bathroom was filled with steam. I wiped the mirror down with the palm of my hand in order to apply face-washing cream.

When I left the bathroom, Santana was turned over in her bed facing the wall. Her eyes were closed, but I could clearly see that her brow was furrowed, her jaw set. Scowling.

_Fine, lets just go to fucking sleep._

I stormed over to my side of the room, now grateful for the fact that my bed was ridiculously loud. I climbed into it as noisily as possible, tossing and turning for a good minute until I finally settled in, facing the wall so I didn't have to look at Santana.

She was such a bitch. I mean honestly, I had never known someone so aggressive and angry and resentful and bitter and just…_mean. _I now understood what it felt like to be Rachel, and Tina, and Kurt and Mercedes and any number of people who Santana and I had victimized during middle school and freshman year of high school. I felt a pang of guilt, and felt relieved for what was probably the thousandth time about the fact that things changed and I was now friends with all those people.

Sleep eventually took me over, and when I woke in the morning, Santana was not in bed. Grateful that I could get ready in peace, I dressed and readied myself for the day. After I talked on the phone with my grandmother and listen to Beth babble through the phone, I went into the hallway to find out what everybody was doing.

Most doors were open, so I headed to the farthest one away. I stood at the doorway, taking in the sight of Tina and Mercedes giggling as Tina tried to curl Mercedes' hair.

"I'm so not good at this!" insisted Tina, appearing to grow self-conscious as Mercedes' hair fell flat at her attempts.

"You're doing fine, girl, just keep going."

"Hold it longer," I suggested, and Tina nodded, gripping the hair in the curling iron for longer. When she let go, the curl bounced.

"That's better," encouraged Mercedes.

"I didn't want to hold it that long and fry your hair off or something."

"Hey guys," came Rachel's voice, and the three of us turned to look at her. She looked nice, dressed in a flowery white sundress. "So, here's the plan for today. We—"

"I'm just telling you now, I've been here for sixteen hours now, and I still haven't hit the beach yet, so if you have some weird play or shopping planned, you can just cancel that right n—" began Mercedes, her expression cross, but Rachel cut across her.

"We're going to the beach." When Mercedes and Tina whooped, Rachel smiled. "Tonight, we're going to do something all together. We haven't decided what yet, so we'll let you know later. As for now, whenever you're ready just head down to the beach!" She waved cheerfully before heading off to inform the next people.

I left Mercedes and Tina to finish getting ready, and headed back to my own room so I could change. When I unlocked the door and went to open it, I was halted as something pushed the door back at me, and would have closed it had I not pushed even harder against it.

"Hang on," said Santana calmly from the other side of it.

I waited impatiently, wondering what the fuck she was doing. When the pressure on the door ceased, I pushed into the room. Oh, I thought as I realized what she had been doing. Right now, all I could see of her was her backside. Smooth caramel skin, bare and exposed to me. I had a brief image of her ass, a perfect ass that made my heart pound and breath come quicker, before she pulled the black bottoms up, her long, slender fingers moving swiftly as she tied the strings on her hips. When she turned around, I was faced an even more problematic image. The swell of her breasts, partly covered by the matching black bikini top. I was literally faced with a half-naked Santana, wearing nothing but a skimpy bathing suit, standing right before me.

The breath I sucked in was obvious, nearly a gasp, and I struggled to transition it into a clearing of the throat, instead ending up with a melodramatic cough. I caught Santana quirking an eyebrow up, appearing faintly amused by my reaction, before I side-stepped her and hurried to my own side of the room.

I was grateful when Santana left the room. I didn't want to get dressed in front of her. I was a lot more self-conscious about my body since I gave labor, which was understandable I guess. I was fortunate enough to be fairly slim still, though rejoining the Cheerios had helped me with that. I no longer had abs, and instead had ugly stretch marks, but at least there was no flab there.

I pulled on my bikini, and then a sheer, flimsy white strapless dress to wear over it. I would probably lounge on the beach rather than swim, just because I wasn't in the mood to swim today. I picked a random book from the few I'd brought, grabbed my sunglasses and my white sunhat, and then headed for the beach.

It was the first time I truly appreciated my decision to come here. Even if individually I wasn't having an incredible amount of fun, it was satisfaction enough in watching all my friends enjoying themselves. They had set up a volleyball game, and that was pretty entertaining. Tina, Mercedes and Rachel were just flinching and cringing every time the ball went their way, Sugar was surprisingly good serving the ball, Kurt was bouncing around enthusiastically, Blaine had a hilarious amount of intensity on his face, and Finn and Puck were the main dominating players of the game, sending spike after spike at opposing sides of the net. Meanwhile, Sam and Brittany were in the water splashing around and giggling, Joe had lifted Artie out of his wheelchair, which obviously couldn't roll through the sand, and Artie was giving them orders on how best to bury his legs in the same and make him a mermaid tail while beside them Rory was making a sand castle. I lay on my belly on my towel, propping myself up on my elbows while I read my book. Several feet away from me, Santana lay on her back on her towel, just lying there. I had no idea why she felt the need to tan when she already had the perfect brown skin.

After a couple hours, Brittany came running over and insisted Santana go swim with her. Brittany tried to get me to come too, but I politely declined. I tried to keep my eyes on my book, but I could hear Santana and Brittany splashing about, could hear Santana's laughter, rich and throaty, and it made me so…so overtly-aware. Like every nerve on my body was tingling, every part of me straining to fully listen, to completely hear every word coming from Santana's lips. I hated that part of me, the part that not only could not seem to shut Santana completely away, but deliberate sought her out. Like some kind of tug that always called my attention to her. I could not control it. The most I could do was keep quiet about it and try not to make too much attention. And definitely, definitely try not to let Santana notice.

I turned over on my back, still propped up on my elbows, and freely watched Santana in the water, grateful that my sunglasses prevented anyone from seeing where I was looking. God, she was so gorgeous it literally pissed me off. How was I _expected _not to stare when she looked like that? Long, dark legs. A flat stomach defined with hard abs. Raven hair that cascaded down her back in wild damp tangles. Coffee-colored eyes that could captivate me even from such a far distance away. The way her body moved as she ran through the water chasing Brittany, giggling like a schoolgirl as they kicked water at one another…

_God,_ she was so gorgeous.

She and Brittany soon headed back up the shore, coming back to Santana's towel. As they passed me, Santana looked deliberately ahead, avoiding me at all costs. And I watched the way the water reflected off her skin, her body tan and gleaming and glorious.

I was suddenly uncomfortably hot, and the sun shining on me felt stifling and unbearable. I had stood and begun to gather my things, beating the sand off my towel, when everyone else began to gather their own stuff. It was sunset now, and the ocean was breathtaking as we watched the vivid orange and pink colors, the sun dropping beneath the wavering water's horizon. Then we all headed back to the hotel.

In the room, things were awkward again as Santana and I undressed. We both had our backs to each other, but I couldn't resist taking a quick peek over my shoulder. I caught a brief glimpse of her bare back again, and of her ass as she shimmied out of her bottoms. I looked quickly forward again, blushing furiously, when she untied her top and it fell to the ground. I heard her walk to the bathroom, heard the door closed, and I exhaled a shaky breath. It would be so much easier living with her if she didn't get me so hot and so…wet.

I peeled my suit off, wrapped a towel around my body and waited in bed as she showered. At one point, I heard a loud exclamation, a curse and a thud like she punched the shower wall, and I couldn't help but so smirk. She had obviously discovered that her shampoo and conditioner had been rinsed out.

Fifteen minutes later, she stormed out of the bathroom clutching her towel to her body.. "Seriously, you dumped out my shit?"

I slid off the bed, gathered my clothes, walked past her and into the bathroom. "I don't know what you're talking about."

She made a noise that sounded like a frustrated growl and I heard another thud as I assumed she kicked the dresser. Then I shut the bathroom door and turned the shower on, snickering.

My laughter abruptly faded when I saw that she'd poured all my shampoo and conditioner out as well. I cursed myself for not being smart enough to have put it away in my suitcase.

I rummaged around in the bathroom cabinet for a moment before pulling out the hotel's complementary bottles of shampoo, conditioner and body wash. I would probably use it all just in this one shower, so I made a mental reminder to go buy some more tomorrow morning.

I showered quickly, shaved, and smothered the body wash all over me. After I shut the shower off and dried my body, I sat on the toilet and used the little compact mirror to apply my makeup. I only used light powder, light liner and one coat of mascara. I wasn't sure what was planned for our group outing tonight, but I was certain it wouldn't be anything that required dressing up too nice, considering most of us were broke.

Finally, after I had dried and straightened my hair, I decided I had calmed down enough to face Santana again. Chances are, she was probably still irate.

I opened the door, carrying my dirty clothes with me to dump into the laundry bag beneath my bed next to my suitcase. I marched across the room, deliberating looking straight forward so I didn't have to look at Santana. I could still see her though, in my peripheral vision. She was lounging in her bed, reading a magazine. She looked up as I walked past her and set the magazine down, swinging her legs off the bed, and I knew I was in for a fight.

"You dressed in the bathroom, seriously? What, are you afraid I'm going to take your virginity?"

I wrinkled my nose. Even I knew that was lame. "Apparently you need to go back to middle-school and take another sex-ed class, because considering the fact that I have a child at home, I think it's safe to say my virginity no longer exists."

"Yeah, I don't think the sex you had before exactly counts. Finn and Puckerman? Really? They don't know the difference between a vagina and their hand. They probably don't even know what a clitoris _is_. Go ahead and ask them. Prove me right."

"And you would know all about vaginas, considering how much your face is in them. If you were straight, you'd be a whore. Since you're gay, what does that make you?" I shot at her.

"Gifted." She lifted her hands, shrugged in that typical sultry Santana way of movement. "You don't even know what sex is. It's not lying under a giant sack of meat while they try to figure out which hole to put their dick in. It's not getting drunk and having an ape with a Mohawk bone you until you're knocked up. Sex is more than that." She seemed to glide around her bed, crossing the room to stand before me. She was much too close to me. I could smell her, smell the jasmine on her skin from my shampoo she had obviously used before she discarded down the drain. "I bet a hundred dollars that you've never even had an orgasm."

"I have, actually," I shot at her, and immediately regretted my words. What I had said and the way I said it made it obvious that the only orgasms I ever had were ones I gave myself.

Santana paused, her eyes widening, and a puff of breath expelled quietly from lips parted in surprise. Mortified and flushed with fresh anger over it, I stalked away from her, reversing our initial positions so now she stood near my bed and I stood near hers.

"So, only a girl can get you off, then?" asked Santana mockingly. She was trying to piss me off even more, obviously. "How ironic, considering you're determined to only suck dick."

She was _succeeding_ in pissing me off. I was outraged. "Not everyone's like you. Not everyone just knows what they want or what they need. Not everyone has it as easy as you!"

"As _easy_ as me?" she said in disbelief. "In what way was any of my life easy?"

"You _knew_ what you wanted. You _knew _that you were attracted to women. Not everyone just _knows_ that easily."

"Oh, I think you knew. You knew you wanted to fuck one person, at least. I felt the proof of that," she said, lifting two fingers. Humiliation slammed into me. _Crude, much?_

"Fuck you."

"Alright, come here then."

My eyes popped at her words. She smirked as she lifted a hand, crooked a finger at me and gestured for me to cross the room to where she stood. "Don't be shy," she added, cocking her head as she gauged my reaction. "I don't bite. Okay, I do. But still, don't be shy."

Fury was coursing through me. Everything about this day pissed me off. The fact that my father had tried to contact me. The way the rain had drizzled all day, and the way my hair was frizzy from drying it in the bathroom where it was too steamy and humid. My idiot friends, making me come to this stupid vacation. The black bikini Santana had decided to wear today. The way right now, her hair twisted into an elegant bun exposed the slender nape of her neck, and the way the sight of her tanned, smooth skin had made heat simmer inside me all day. It frustrated me, and it pissed me off. In fact, I haven't felt this pissed off in a long time.

"Not even in your dreams, Santana," I said harshly, knowing it would hurt her. I got my satisfaction when I saw the way her eyes went dead, her smile dropped off her face and her mouth moved into a grim, thin line.

But she recovered more quickly than I thought she would.

"Actually, Q, I _have_ fucked you in my dreams. And you weren't much to brag about."

Flames flooded my cheeks and licked at my insides. _Bitch,_ my thoughts snarled in my head, even as rejection gave a hollow pang in my belly. "Hard to believe that when it obviously keeps you up at night," I said bitingly.

Got her again. Her nostrils flared before she snapped, "Wrong again, Quinn. The only thing keeping me up at night is how incredibly _unattractive_ you are. I have this paranoid fear that the moment I fall asleep your stretch marks will come to life, slither across the room and strangle me in my bed."

Shame curdled within me now, and I unconsciously moved my hands to clasp together before me, my arms obscuring my stomach. I had only given birth a year ago, and my stretch marks were still angry purple colors that were a vividly stark contrast to my pale skin. Still, determined not to show face, I sneered at Santana. "I would believe that if I wasn't aware of how you practically _salivate _every time I so much as walk into a room. It's been almost two fucking years, you'd think by now you'd have gotten the hint that you are _not _in my league. Not even close."

What a lie, or rather lies. One, I knew Santana was far from drooling when I walked into a room. That was total bullshit. If anything, me entering a room probably did nothing but plunge her into a foul mood, considering how much she hates me. But I was getting desperate. Two, the theory of Santana not being in my league is entirely implausible. Even when I had ruled the school, she still was in the same equal league as me. Now that I have a child to raise, my social status has undeniably dropped, so perhaps now _I'm_ not in _her _league. The thought sent a deliciously double-edged heat shooting through me. I don't know why that thought turned me on so much. Maybe it was because no one had ever been out of my league before. Santana had always been a challenge, but now she was an even greater one.

"Yeah, see, maybe I would consider that, if it weren't for all the nights we stayed up with you practically _begging_ me to touch you. Lady lover much, Q?"

Oh my God. She actually went there. Never had anything like that been said aloud before. Even when we used to be together, and we indeed did stay up all night kissing and all I wanted was to do more than that with her, we still had never properly admitted out loud what were doing save for our final fight that had ended our friendship. Still, even then she had not claimed I was a 'lady lover'. It shocked me that she had gone so far.

"It's not that you didn't have a clue what you wanted," she continued, her eyes still burning with the satisfaction of what she was saying. "It's that you _did_ know what you wanted, and you just didn't like that. You're fucking gay yourself, and full of shit if you deny it. So just admit it. You're _just like me_. A _Lesbian_."

My jaw dropped in my shock. _Oh my God._


	7. Hints

**Chapter VII**

* * *

**Santana's POV**

I was silent. Even I knew I had gone extreme. Regretting my words already, I began, "That was too far. I—"

"It's your fault!"

I scowled immediately. "No, it's—"

"It's _your _fault! You made me fucking like girls!"

I paused, my mouth falling open and my brows raising and arching at the absurdity of it all. "What? What the— how in the hell can _I make you_ like girls? Wait a minute. _Like girls_?" I was dumbfounded. "What, you are gay?" I had only said it to anger and embarrass her. I hadn't actually believed it…

"No!" screeched Quinn. "I am not a lesbian! I'm not gay! But you…you made me like girls! I didn't…I didn't look at girls this way, until you fucking turned gay and—"

"I _turned_ gay? You can't _turn_ gay!" So furious I was shaking, I pointed threateningly at her. "Hello, I can't change who I am! I've _always _been gay! I just didn't understand it until I was older! And what the fuck do you even mean? You look at girls what way?" When Quinn didn't answer, only stood there glaring at me with her chest rising and falling rapidly, I pressed on. "Are you attracted to girls, Quinn?"

"No!" was Quinn's automatic response. But her expression was uncertain and confused. "I mean, I don't…I don't think so. I don't look at any girls and think about doing things with them. But, I want to…to watch things. With girls together in them."

Completely flummoxed now, I shook my head, at a loss for words. "You mean like… porn?" I managed to say. It was a wonder I was speaking at all, through my confusion and anger.

"No. I mean like…like movies. And shows. And life." Clearly uncomfortable now, Quinn lifted a hand, ran it through her sunlit hair. "I don't know, like, I want to see girls together. I love Imagine Me and You."

"Imagine Me and You?"

"It's a movie. With Piper Parabo and Lena Headey."

"The girl from Coyote Ugly…and the girl from Game of Thrones?" I said, baffled.

"Yes."

Hmm. That'd be hot. I'll have to look that up. Still, though. To the present matter at hand. I drew myself up, shook my head. "Quinn, what are you getting at? What the hell are you talking about? How could I have made you feel that?"

"I don't know!" she bewailed, wringing her hands in her aggravation. "You just…ever since we…"

The silence between us shifted, turned awkward and insufferable. She was obviously referring to _us._ To what happened between us almost two years ago. Indicating it aloud was even more painful than I could have imagined. There were so many emotions warring together from those memories. Remembering them, admitting that they had happened, was painful and wonderful all at the same time. Wonderful because it had happened, remembering laughing and smiling with Quinn made me so happy, and remembering every kiss and every touch could get me so worked up, so lustful, and then remembering why it all ended was so devastating.

I was sure those emotions were reflected on my face, judging by the panic that arose evident on Quinn's. "I don't know how to explain it, Santana! But you messed me up!"

"_I_ messed_ you_ up?" I demanded, my voice cracking under the strain. "You messed me up! You fucking—you broke my fucking—" I couldn't go on. For what felt like the millionth time tonight, I shook my head in lieu of my loss for words.

"I was perfectly fine with being a homophobic bitch!" snapped Quinn. "I might have been unhappy but at least things made sense. I never thought I was even capable of being with a woman until you come flouncing along—"

"_Flouncing?_ " I said, outraged.

"—with your stupid Cheerios outfit and your stupid necklace—"

"The one I _gave_ to you!"

"—and we're supposed to be best friends, you were supposed to be my _friend_, to watch my boyfriends to make sure they didn't hurt me, to—"

"I did that! Over and over again, I did that!"

"—watch silly romance movies and gush about the cute boys with me—"

"That's not who I am!" I shouted, tears immediately stinging my eyes at the injustice of what Quinn was saying. I couldn't change who I am, and here she was accusing me that I should have done so.

"—and you were supposed to have a boyfriend too, so I could watch him for you,—"

"I dated Puck—" I began to snarl, but she cut me off again.

"—you were not supposed to look at me the way you did, to make me feel the things you made me felt, you were _not_ supposed to hug me too long or hold my hand or stroke my hair,—"

"I'm fucking sorry, okay!"

"—you were _not_ supposed to kiss me, you weren't supposed to make me _feel _all that, to make me _want _you so much, _you_, my _best friend_, a fucking _girl,—"_

Tears had spilled over both of our eyes, sliding down the curves of our cheeks in near perfect synchronization.

"—you weren't supposed to make any of that happen, _none_ of that should have happened, but it did, and it's all because of _you_, and then I can't keep doing it and you hate me for it, you fucking _hate_ me for it, and you _knew_ that if my parents found out they would kill me, that they would never talk to me again and I would get kicked out and I was _scared_, okay, they would have made my life hell, and instead of understanding that you just hated me, you left me alone, and then Frannie died and you still, you STILL left me ALONE!"

Her voice had risen to a shout now. I glanced at the door, saw that it was unlocked. Our room was right between Rachel and Finn's and Kurt and Blaine's rooms. I prayed they wouldn't come in. I would be mortified if anyone saw me crying. I longed to leave this room, to put as much distance between Quinn and I and get as far away from the cause of this fucking pain in my heart as I could, and yet at the same time all I wanted was to fucking sprint over to her, take her in my arms and brush those tears away. It absolutely infuriated me, I mean it literally set me on fire, that I could loathe this girl so much for what she's put me through and at the same time love her so much for reasons I can't even fucking explain.

"I WAS FUCKING ALONE AND YOU WEREN'T THERE. AND THEN MY SISTER DIED, FRANNIE _DIED_, AND YOU _STILL_ WEREN'T FUCKING THERE. NO ONE WAS THERE EXCEPT PUCKERMAN, AND HE WAS EVERYWHERE AND I _MISSED_ YOU AND I PRETENDED HE WAS _YOU_, I KISSED HIM AND PRETENDED HE WAS _YOU_, AND THEN WE DID MORE THAN KISS AND I TRIED TO FORGET ABOUT _EVERYTHING _WHILE WE WERE FUCKING, I TRIED TO FORGET ABOUT YOU, I TRIED TO FORGET ABOUT FRANNIE, I TRIED TO FORGET ABOUT _EVERYTHING_, AND IT _STILL DIDN'T WORK_. _YOU WEREN'T THERE._ AND THEN I'M PREGNANT AND _YOU'RE NOT THERE._ MY PARENTS DISOWN ME AND _YOU'RE NOT THERE_. I GIVE BIRTH TO MY DAUGHTER AND _YOU'RE NOT FUCKING THERE_, YOU DON'T EVEN FUCKING VISIT ME IN THE HOSPITAL, _YOU WERE NEVER THERE_. I WAS SO ALONE AND LOST AND ALL I WANTED WAS—"

Her words were halted when she suddenly broke into a coughing fit, choking on her tears. She doubled over, her hands on her knees, and I stood near the door watching her in terror and alarm. I had never been so frightened in my entire life. Her words felt like knives of indescribable caliber, pounding into me, slicing into me, tearing me into pieces so small and broken that I didn't even recognize myself anymore, I literally had no idea who I was as I stood there shaking. Everything in me, everything that was good about me that I could still recognize, stood a few feet away from me, convulsing as though her frantic sobbing was about to make her retch.

Without another thought, I moved. My body took no conscious orders. My only thought, my only motivating factor that spurred me into action, was watching the tears from Quinn's eyes splatter the floor. In an instant I was across the room, and wrapping my arms around Quinn.

* * *

**Quinn's POV**

My sobs caught in my throat as I felt arms wrap around me. Warm, strong, familiar arms. Arms that had once supported me during countless Cheerios routines. Arms that had once playfully wrestled me to the ground during childhood. Arms that had once held me close and tight when we were teenagers. Arms that should not be around me right now.

"Quinn," murmured Santana, and she sounded helpless, desperate, pleading, as though she didn't know what to say. As though she wished my pain away.

_Lies._

"Get—off—me—get off me!" I struggled against her arms, turning into her and pushing her away. She stumbled a few steps back from me, looking at me with wide, stricken eyes.

Looking at her, I felt all my emotions rise tenfold, which was insane considering how high they already were. Horrible, terrible agony in my heart. Loneliness. Fear. And, outrageously enough, fucking _yearning_. It had felt inexpressible to be in her arms again. Fury pumped through my body now.

Before I could even consider the notion, I sprung forward, pulled back my arm and delivered a stinging slap right across Santana's face. I gasped the moment I made contact with her skin, and had a split second to stare in horror at what I'd done before she flung an arm out and struck me square in the chest, shoving me away from her hard so I fell down hard on my ass. I gaped up at her from the floor, shocked at what I had just done.

Santana was nearly hunched over, her left hand cupped over the left side of her face where my right hand had made contact. She was staring at me, too, equal shock reflected in her mocha eyes. Regret rose instantly within me.

"Santana. San, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"Quinn? Santana?" cried Rachel as she and Brittany burst through the door, both of them appearing alarmed. "We heard shouting, we thought…" Rachel's voice trailed away as she took in the full scene before her. Me sprawled on the floor. Santana standing over me, holding her hand to her cheek and jaw. The stricken expressions on both of our faces.

"What's going on?" asked Rachel slowly. Brittany said nothing, only looked back and forth between Santana and I, her brow creased in what seemed to be sorrow.

There was a stunned silence where none of us knew what to say. Then Santana moved, sidestepped me and rushed straight out of the room.

"I'll go," Brittany told Rachel, and hurried after Santana.

Rachel hastened over to me, gripped my arm directly above my elbow and helped pull me to my feet. I patted my clothes for any dust and avoided Rachel's gaze, embarrassed.

"Quinn," began Rachel, turning to close the door. I finally looked up at her when I heard the lock click. Rachel stood near it, appearing uncertain, nervously picking at a stray thread in the sleeve of her dress. "What just happed?"

"Nothing," I muttered, easing down onto the edge of my bed. My palm was still tingling from where it made contact with Santana's cheek. I was so ashamed for hitting her; even if I couldn't stand her, even if I nearly hated her for her absence, I did not wish any type of pain on her. Don't get me wrong, both Santana and I had slapped each other before; when we had been friends in middle school, it was sort of our trademark. Annoy each other at recess, argue incessantly, slap the shit out of each other, make up and go back to our day. But now, when we didn't even communicate any more and had barely began to start speaking to one another again, it just seemed wrong.

"You can tell me, you know." Rachel had raised her voice slightly, and though it wavered, her head was held high. "You can trust me. I won't tell anyone, and I'll just listen to what you have to say."

I shook my head. "I don't have anything to say. Nothing happened." The words sounded dead even to my ears.

Rachel came over to the bed and carefully sat beside me. Her eyes were anxious when they fixated on mine. Anxious, but determined. "You need a_ friend_, Quinn."

I immediately frowned. "A friend? I have friends."

"No, no, I mean a friend you can talk to. A friend you do talk to. About what's going on with you and how you feel."

"I don't need that," I said stiffly. My head was throbbing and suddenly I was overcome by the urge to go to sleep. Lie down, spoon my pillow, go to sleep and just forget the world and all the craziness that had just occurred a few minutes ago.

"Yes, you do. It's not…it's not healthy, what you've been doing. First…first your sister passes away..."

The hesitance with which Rachel spoke only contributed to the twisting of the knife I felt as though she'd just rammed in my heart. I really hated every time I was reminded that Frannie was no longer alive.

"And then you become pregnant…and your parents disown you and kick you out of your house, and then you have a baby…those are a lot of significant changes, Quinn. And through all of them, I haven't seen you talking about it to anyone. Is there anyone you're close with?"

I didn't answer. Santana was the only person I had been close to, along with Brittany for the brief period in which I knew her and didn't affiliate her with Santana. But I hadn't been _that _close to her, and then when she and Santana started dating, the fact that I was constantly daydreaming about punching Brittany's face in did not help our deteriorating relationship.

"No," I whispered, looking down at my hands clasped together in my lap.

"Okay. I want you to talk to me then, Quinn. Tell me what happened between you and Santana. Tell me about when you guys were…were dating."

My body went cold. My heart felt as though it froze over and fell to my toes. Horror erupted in me. "We weren't dating," I burst out, which was the truth. But why the fuck would she have think we were?

"Well whatever you guys were. You basically said you were together."

There was silence as that sank in. Then: "You overheard us."

"I did overhear you claiming that you pretended Noah was Santana when you were together," admitted Rachel in her typical proper style of speaking that only fed fuel to my fury.

"You fucking nosy bitch. You were listening to us?" I demanded.

"I wasn't being nosy. You were just yelling loud enough for the whole floor to hear. Fortunately right now everyone is downstairs in the lobby waiting to play a game. I came up here to get the rules and Brittany came to get you and Santana, and we overheard the end of your argument when we emerged from the elevator." Rachel took a deep breath and the way she was looking at me changed, turned patient and a little somber. "I don't care how many insults you throw at me or how uncooperative you think you can be. You _need _to talk about this, Quinn. I'm not leaving until you do."

I was stupefied as I sat for a moment in silence, mulling over her words. I couldn't believe that someone now knew Santana and I had a thing together. I would have thought the notion would have frightened me more than this, but to be perfectly honest, I was already getting over it. It was Rachel Berry. She had always practically worshipped me, on top of the fact that she was actually a good person. I'm sure that if I asked her to be discreet, she would be.

Besides…to be honest, although normally my general disposition for Rachel was disdainful, she had her moments. Moments where she would change from the annoying, overly-ambitious girl to the kind, pure-hearted girl that sat beside me right now. I knew that, even despite her innate drive to befriend me simply because it would elevate her popularity status (or perhaps would have before I became a mother), Rachel genuinely cared for me. And it had been too long that I felt like anyone other than my own grandmother and child actually cared for me.

_Besides,_ I thought as I swallowed the lump that had formed in my throat, _it's about time I finally get this off my chest._

"Fine," I said hoarsely. "I'll tell you."

"Why don't you start with when things began to change?" suggested Rachel.

I couldn't do that because I don't even know when things began to change. There was no concrete time where suddenly our relationship shifted. It was a gradual thing. There were, however, definite instances where our relationship had seemed a little more than friendly, when we had cautiously stepped a toe over the line. Where we had been just a little too flirtatious.

Hesitantly, I began to tell Rachel of one example in which Santana and I had just been friends, yet hinted at more.

* * *

_It felt as though my entire body flushed, warming me to the bone. Heat gravitated toward my face, and toward the area between my currently tingling thighs._

_Santana didn't seem to notice, her gaze only focused intently on her reflection in the mirror as she applied more smoky liner to her top eyelids. But I noticed. I allowed my gaze to travel down her body, over the curves of her slim waist flaring out into round hips. Her ass, I thought in a type of desperate wonder, was just perfect. Did it make me a horrible friend that I wanted to get my hands on it?_

_I cleared my throat awkwardly, shifting my legs so they closed tightly together. I felt as though too much heat was radiating from me, and Santana would somehow be able to sense it._

_It was the second week of our sophomore year of high school. We were getting ready for the first home football game after-party. I should be getting ready myself, but it was hard, when Santana was standing before me. How disgusting was I, to be having these thoughts about my best friend, and a _girl_, no less? But I couldn't help it even if I tried. She was Santana Lopez, and she was absolutely perfect. She was so smart, already in AP calculus even as a sophomore. She was athletic, a cheerleading captain already and a pro in gymnastics. She was so hilarious, always making me laugh even if some of her offhand comments were snarky and sarcastic. She was kind, always there to cheer me up when I was done, and to do spontaneous thoughtful gestures for me such as buying me gifts when she went out of town and bringing me snickers bars to Cheerios' practice. She was so beautiful. That didn't even need explaining; she was the epitome of exquisiteness. And not only was she just beautiful, but she was also stunning…so hot, just looking at her practically melted me. I couldn't keep my eyes off her even if I tried. I stared up at the ceiling in determination, but my eyes only wandered down again to appraise the cleavage I could see in her reflection in the mirror. God, she was gorgeous. _

_It took me a few seconds to notice that Santana had stopped applying liner and was watching me in the mirror in amusement._

_"Having fun eye-fucking me, Q?" she teased, turning around to face me._

_I jolted, my face flooding with an embarrassed blush. I tried to quickly cover for myself. "Um, I just thought…you look nice today," I feebly settled for. _Great cover.

_Santana, however, wasn't going to let me off so easy. She walked forward, each step of her foot exuding sexiness. "Thanks. Still doesn't explain why you were intensely eye-fucking me, though."_

_"Um, I—I wasn't. I just..." My thoughts scrambled sporadically around in my head, bouncing around my skull in panic. "I just...wondered...what color bra you were wearing." Seriously? What color bra she was wearing? _Total idiot.

_"Well you can find out," suggested Santana, her voice filled with as much seductive bantering as her gaze. But there was something there, something that left a hard pressure behind Santana's words, and created a bright glint in her dark eyes. What was it? Determination? Yes, that was there. But it was something else. My eyes narrowed warily, I watched Santana as she slowly bent over, placing her hands on the bed on both sides of my thighs. Her face lowered, moving so near mine that I could see the tiny scar at the arch of her right eyebrow where she had fallen so long ago when we rode bicycles together as children._

_"Wanna find out, Q?"_

_Mutely, I nodded. The heat in me was growing, strongest in my face and the apex between my thighs. _

_Without a word, Santana pulled down her shirt by the v-shaped neckline, exposing the sheer red and black-laced cups of her bra. I felt my mouth go dry at the sight of the caramel curves of creamy, smooth flesh, gently rising and falling with Santana's breathing. A blush seemed to have fallen on her too, since when I glanced up to see her reaction I noted the faint pink tinge of her cheeks. Impressive, considering how hard it usually was to discern whether or not she was blushing, thanks to her being ethnic. She was expressionless, but the emotion in her eyes was evident. She looked...curious. Wondering what I would do._

_There were a lot of things I wanted to do. But unfortunately, they were all impossible._

_"Pretty," I commented, leaving it as simple as that._

_Slowly, Santana straightened, releasing her neckline so that her shirt could spring back into place, regretfully covering up what I would have been sorely grateful to take a longer time appreciating. "Thanks," she said._

_I answered back just as carefully. "You're welcome."_

* * *

"Yeah, you were definitely flirting," agreed Rachel, a marveling smile on her face, as though she couldn't believe what she'd just heard.

"I know," I admitted, the ghost of a smile curving my lips slightly. "That kind of stuff happened a lot. It wasn't until the end of sophomore year that anything physical actually happened, though."

"Tell me!" she encouraged.

I took a deep breath. This was both harder and easier than I thought it would be. My heart ached painfully, but my shoulders felt lighter, as though a weight was lifting off them.

_I think I needed this._


	8. The Bonfire

**Chapter VIII**

* * *

**Santana's POV**

"Here," said Brittany, handing me the plastic cup full of ice.

"Thanks," I said gratefully, and winced as I held it against the left side of my face. "Quinn's always been a genius slapper."

"I know," said Brittany cheerfully. "I remember the time you told me that you two were playing basketball and you called her a bitch and she slapped you. That's funny."

"Seriously, you don't remember last week when I ask you to bring my wedges to school for me, yet you do remember me casually mentioning something stupid that happened between Quinn and I in the sixth grade?"

Brittany tapped a finger to her right temple. "I only remember the truly important things."

I snorted, rolling my eyes, but it had drawn a smile out of me, as I'm sure Britt had been trying to do. I couldn't believe I was smiling period. I was so shaken up inside. The words Quinn had thrown at me had been the worst I've ever heard, and believe me, I've been told some pretty horrible things, most of which were said by my father and my _abuela, _and if not by them then by the homophobic hockey meatheads. But what Quinn had said, those words mattered the words. And those words felt as though I was literally getting punched in the gut with a fucking train. No, not even a train. A giant fucking plane, flying a million miles an hour and slamming right into every part of me that was vulnerable and scared.

Because Quinn was right. Everything she said was completely in the right. I hadn't been there, not once. When whatever we were had ended, I couldn't even bring myself to get out of bed let alone actually face the person who had figuratively ended my life. But I should have gotten over it. I know they say that depression is a disease, but I should have fought it. I should have just grown some balls, and went to her. I had absolutely no excuses for not doing so. Honestly, she deserved to slap me. I did not deserve to even speak to her, let alone try to touch her. I would have slapped me too. I would have probably done more than even that, I admit, I probably would have beaten the shit out of me.

Brittany was watching me steadily, her baby blue eyes unwavering on me. "What's in your head?"

I frowned, immediately stopping when it made my left temple twinge painfully. I had a feeling the heel of Quinn's hand hitting my face was going to leave a bruise. "What do you mean?" I asked, wincing again as I readjusted the cup of ice.

"What's in your head?" repeated Brittany. "What are you thinking about? I want to know."

"Nothing," I lied, but Brittany only lifted her eyebrows, blinked exaggeratingly slowly and skeptically at me. She didn't believe me. Huffing a breath, I added, "I don't want to talk about it."

"Well, too bad so sad."

Surprised, I stared at Brittany, lowering the cup of ice. It was nearly completely melted now, probably because my skin was burning from where Quinn had slapped me.

"You need to talk to me," she went on. "You hardly ever talk about Quinn to me, and that means you never talk about her at all to anyone. And you guys used to be best friends, so that's weird that you don't talk about her. What happened between you?"

"I don't…" Uncomfortable, I shook my head. "I can't talk about this. I can't."

Brittany sighed, snatching the cup out of my hand. She dumped what little water was in it on the ground and began to refill it with ice. I stared at the water as it remained as a bubble on the floor and then began to sink into the carpet. As she handed me back the cup of ice, Brittany said, "Look, Santana, I know how stubborn you are. But I'm not going to leave this room until you tell me what just happened with you and Quinn."

I lifted the ice to my cheek and expelled a shaky breath at the relief it brought me. "Nothing happened," I insisted. "We just got into a disagreement."

"Over what?"

"Over…over who gets which bed."

Brittany rolled her eyes. "Okay, if you're going to lie to me then I'm just going to go home."

"Home?" I said, my eyes popping. Anger simmered into me. "What? You're trying to guilt-trip me into telling you shit? That's going to get you fucking nowhere."

"Yep, and nowhere is where I'll stay because I will stay in this room for the rest of the whole trip unless you tell me what went on between you and Quinn. _Everything_," she spelled out for me, lifting a finger to emphasize her point.

I glared at her, frustrated. Brittany was stubborn too, in a one-minded kind of way, which made it even worse. I knew that she really would spend the rest of this entire two-week vacation in this room unless I came clean.

"Fine!" I snapped, annoyed. "God, you suck."

She smiled, satisfied, and waited for me to continue.

"Okay, look. Quinn doesn't…we weren't always friends." My irritation faded as my uncertainty grew. This was something I had never uttered aloud, and it felt like doing it now was going against everything I stood for.

"Please talk to me, Santana." Brittany dipped her head down, turning to press her lips lightly to mine before scooting back to the headboard of the bed and resting there. The kiss had the soothing effect she had obviously hoped for. I relaxed, bringing the ice to my face yet again.

"Okay." I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what I was about to say. "Quinn and I had a…we had a thing."

It was silent for a few seconds, enough to make it awkward. Then Brittany tilted her head, her brows creasing. "Okay…" she said, sounding puzzled, as though she were waiting for me to add to my sentence.

I was bemused. "That doesn't…take you by surprise, or anything?"

She shrugged. "No, I mean, you and Quinn were best friends for, what, five years?"

"Six," I interjected, but she went on.

"Sometime in those years you must have figured out you're a lady lover, and Quinn was your best friend. And Quinn is awesome and really pretty, so you would've been crazy not to have at least a little crush on her. And you're awesome and really pretty also so she would have to be crazy not to have had a little crush on you, too. Am I right?"

My lips moved without sound. As usual, Brittany astonished me. Besides Quinn, I think she was the only person who could perplex me so much. "I…yeah. Except, I had more than just a little crush on her. I…" I sucked in a deep breath as my heart took a painful pang. "I was in love with her."

This also did not seem to surprise Brittany. "And she was in love with you. So what went wrong?" she queried.

"No, Britt, no—she didn't love me. I didn't even know for sure if she had a 'crush ' on me up until our fight earlier. I didn't know what the hell was ever going on, because we never talked about it. We always pretended like nothing happened every time anything did happen."

"Like what?"

"Like…" I couldn't bring myself to finish. My heart felt as though it were being squeezed in a fist. "This is too hard, Brittany, I can't do this."

"You can do it," she encouraged, nodding vigorously to emphasize her point. "Come on, Santana, tell me."

"I just…like…okay look, I'll give you the short version," I said, giving up. This was too painful to tell an in-depth story. Brittany nodded in agreement, and I went on. "I've known I wasn't into guys since the fifth grade," I began in a rush, speaking quickly in an effort to bypass the pain of talking about all this. "I told Quinn when I was in eighth grade, and she was the only person who knew. She was really weird about it at first, and we didn't talk a whole lot for about a week, but she moved past it pretty quickly, because we were best friends and we had better things to worry about. When we were freshman, I thought maybe…I don't know, I just started to think that maybe it wasn't totally impossible for Quinn to think of me in a different way. I'd pretty much been in love with her since we met in the second grade."

"Adorable," commented Brittany, and then nodded to indicate for me to continue.

"Things between us had been different, probably for a lot of reasons. We were in high school now, for one. We weren't on the same cheer squad, because she sprained her ankle really bad and couldn't cheer for a while, and when she could she had to take it easy on the junior varsity team while I was still cheering for the varsity Cheerios. She started a long-term relationship with Finn, instead of the short, kiddie relationships you have when you're in middle school. On top of all that, there was just something different between us. We were older and we had more intense emotions and we just, it was like we always ended up flirting, and hinting at something more. I don't really know how to explain it…" I trailed off, torn in my mind.

"Keep going!" insisted Brittany.

"Jesus. Okay. Things were good and we went into sophomore year. Quinn was still dating Finn, we were all still in Glee Club. You moved here," I recalled, smiling warmly at Brittany, who returned it. "Quinn was back on varsity squad and we were co-captains. I realized that I definitely had more than friendly feelings for her, and I tried to make her jealous by dating Puckerman. I don't think it succeeded. Either she's a really good actor, or she just knew that I wasn't that into him. To be honest, I think she knew I had a thing for her. And I think she was starting to get a thing for me too." I fell silent as I contemplated.

Brittany cleared her throat pointedly, and I went on, a little exasperated. "Every party we went to, we were always all over each other. Dancing on each other, singing drunk together, playing with each other's hair. She always spent the night at my house and we slept in the same bed together, I mean we always had but this year it was different. We cuddled up really close to each other, tried to get as close as possible. I was always thinking of ways I could get her alone…really inappropriate things to think about my best friend, really," I admitted, my heart taking another throbbing pang.

"Did you tell her that?" asked Brittany.

I shook my head. "No. There was no way I was going to admit I had any kind of more than friendly feelings for her. I was too scared."

"Of what?"

"Of a lot of things," I said, more brusquely than I meant to. I swallowed hard, but it didn't erase the lump in my throat. "I was scared my dad would find out that I was gay. I was scared Quinn would be freaked out and wouldn't want to be friends anymore. I was scared she would be…repulsed…by me." Tears stung my eyes. "I was scared she didn't feel the same way."

"I bet she did," said Brittany gently. "Keep going."

"There's nothing else to say really," I said, my voice unsteady despite how hard I concentrated on making it stable. "We kissed a few times, and…more. And it got to the point where we were just in it too deep. And she wanted to cut it off, started to, so I just finished the job for her, and it ended. We ended. We couldn't maintain a friendship after being in…whatever it was we had. So that had to end too."

Brittany shook her head. "Okay, you need to start from the top," she ordered.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you need to start from the beginning. I already know about how you guys were friends and stuff, but you need to tell me when it started being more."

"Sophomore year," I said, puzzled. "Our first kiss was about a month before sophomore year ended."

"No, no, no." Brittany clasped her hands together, a gesture she commonly made when the person she was speaking to wasn't seeing her point and she was trying to remain patient. "I mean start from the top. Tell me how your first kiss happened, in detail."

There was silence. My face hurt a lot less than my stomach, now. "I…that's too hard, Brittany."

"Pretty please."

"I can't."

"Just tell me what happened," she urged in her quiet voice, her eyes intense and beseeching and locked on mine.

I shook my head. "I can't, Britt, it just…" I rubbed the heel of my free hand over my chest, over my heart. "It hurts too bad."

The corners of Brittany's lips tilted upward in a small, bright smile. "Okay, now, the Santana I know isn't afraid of anything. Especially telling someone how she feels and what she thinks." Brittany moved forward to the edge of the bed and took my hands in hers. "Just tell me, Santana. I promise I won't interrupt. Don't be afraid to tell me what you think and how you feel. I'll just listen to you talk."

"I've only been afraid of telling one person what I think and how I feel," I said hoarsely. "And look how that turned out."

"Exactly," said Brittany. "So you know that not talking about it is a bad thing. Please tell me," she pleaded. "Please?"

Her bottom lip extended in a pout, and I puffed out a breath, rolling my eyes as I sniffed and blinked away tears. "God, Britt, you know I hate it when you do that puppy-dog shit."

Brittany grinned, and I couldn't help it; it tugged a smile out of me as well.

"Come on, Santana. I'm your best friend. You can tell me anything. What happened between you and Quinn? Tell me about the first time you kissed."

I took a deep breath, steeling myself in preparation for this. "Alright, fine. You should feel pretty honored, you know," I added, brushing the tears that had leaked out of the corners of my eyes away with my fingertips. "I've never told anyone about this."

She smiled brightly again. "I'm special again."

I moved forward and pressed a butterfly-light kiss to the tip of her nose. "You're always special, Brittany."

She waved her hands in a motion indicating for me to go on.

I took another deep breath, and then I began to tell her the story of Quinn and I's very first kiss. "Okay, the first time Quinn and I ever kissed…there were only a few months of sophomore year left. We had that bonfire, and I'd already been having a bad day because of issues with my dad. For the entire summer after freshman year and then what had been so far of sophomore year, Quinn and I had been flirting with each other a lot. I don't really know when it started; it just became sort of a…thing. Maybe we'd always done it, but I guess we didn't really understand the implications of it until we were both fifteen and sixteen. Anyway, so, we both went to this bonfire together…"

* * *

_My laughter echoed across the beach as I stumbled over someone's body, a half empty bottle of vodka held loosely by its neck in my left hand and my right hand tightly gripping Quinn's sturdy arm. I tripped again over another body, my heel digging into the ribs of whoever it was. The person groaned, and I stifled my giggle behind my hand as I staggered on._

_ I didn't know how I was walking, to be honest. I didn't know why Quinn and I had not yet both stumbled, tripped, and collapsed in a drunken heap on the sand. Quinn had always been good at holding her alcohol, but I thought she would have been drinking a lot, after her fight with Finn. Yet she was the one who was providing the support and balance that enabled me to finally reach the campfire, where I plopped myself down on the sand right in front of it._

_ "Okay, let's scoot you back a little," she said, wrapping her arms around my midsection and dragging me a few feet back, until I could lean against the logs that had been placed in a circle around the fire for seating._

_ "It's hot, but it feels nice," I said, lifting my arm and holding my palm toward the fire. I was close enough that I could only hold my hand out for a few seconds before it became too hot and I had to drop it. _

_ "Be careful, San," warned Quinn as she eased down on the log beside mine, and I nodded, lifting the vodka bottle and taking another gulp. My eyes were no longer stinging, and I felt pleasantly warm. I wasn't trashed yet, but I had definitely loosened up a lot._

_ "Give," said Quinn, who had held out her hand toward me and was wiggling her fingers expectantly._

_ "Don't take it away," I pleaded, turning to shield the bottle from her, clutching it to my chest and hunching over so she couldn't see it, let alone take it._

_ But her hand snaked down under my arms and snatched the bottle, and she tugged it out of my grip. When I turned to her, a frustrated glint in my eyes, she shook her head, lifting the bottle to her lips._

_ "Relax. I just want to share."_

_ "Oh," I said, watching my friend take a swig. _

_ "So," she said casually after awhile, setting the half-drank bottle in the sand and drawing her towel more tightly around her shoulders. "You wanna tell me what has you so upset?"_

_ "Nothing," I lied, mimicking her by securing my own towel around my shoulders. I quickly reached down and grabbed the vodka, and while Quinn looked exasperated, she didn't say anything. I took a long drink and closed my eyes as I felt the liquid trickling down my throat to settle in my stomach. It was so warm, and helped settle my nerves. Surprisingly, I changed my mind and decided I wanted to talk. "My dad is a man," I confessed._

_ One of Quinn's perfect golden eyebrows arched upward. "Well, I assumed that, Santana, seeing how he knocked your mom up and all," she said candidly, but even despite the fact that I was half-drunk, I could detect the subtle note of mockery and humor in her voice._

_ "No, no." I shook my head, taking a sip of my drink. "I mean he's a typical man. He's an ass. I haven't talked to him for three months. He didn't text me yesterday or today about my last day of school. And it's his birthday today, and I've texted him four times and called him twice, and he hasn't answered me."_

_ Quinn listened with no emotion on her face, her features blank. But I knew her eyes held her secrets, and I peered more closely at them. I could see sadness, unhappiness. It made my heart ache. _

_ "Will you stop that?" she demanded, her eyes narrowing shrewdly. I leaned back, a little hurt, though my emotions were admittedly intensified from the vodka. _Okay then.

_ "It's like you're trying to read my mind," she explained, sounding annoyed._

_ I frowned in response as I took another drink. Quinn seized it away to take a swallow herself. "I am trying to read your mind," I said. "I want to know what you're thinking."_

_ She gazed at the sky thoughtfully, appearing to chew the inside of her cheek as she contemplated whatever was going on in her head. "I'm thinking that your dad is a dick. You shouldn't get so upset by him."_

_ "He's my dad!" I exclaimed. No matter how much of an ass he is, it would always hurt me. _Because bottom line, I'm his daughter and he should treat me like it.

_ "No, San, I mean..." Quinn made a stressed sound, dropped the vodka in my hands and stood, leaving her log to come sit on mine, right above and beside me. She leaned over, gripped my toweled arms and squeezed for emphasis as she said, "I mean that you don't deserve that. It's not your fault that he's like that. It's his own loss, and I know you'll still be upset, because in the end, he is your dad. But I mean you shouldn't get upset because...because I guess it's something not worth getting upset over." Her brows knitted and a crease formed between them; her voice grew more frustrated as she went, "I don't know how to explain this. It's like, I know it's your dad and that's always going to hurt, but I wish it wouldn't, I wish it wouldn't upset you so much because it's him doing that, and that's not your fault."_

_ Her face was only a few inches away; I felt another heat, a new kind, rush through my body. It left my legs quivering. I could see the fire flickering in the vivid hazel of her eyes. _

_ "Um." My throat had gone dry; I struggled to think of something to say. Quinn straightened, her face drawing away, which helped my concentration. I trembled inside. _Why is it so always hard to think around you?

_ I took a swig of the vodka and then passed it on to Quinn. "I know you're right. You're always right."_

_ Her strained expression finally relaxed, and she smirked at me after taking another sip of the vodka. "Finally you admit it."_

_ "Hey, you're not always right about everything," I challenged, returning the smirk. "Look at your loser boyfriend, for example."_

_ She rolled her eyes, but she didn't say anything. She only took another drink._

_ "He's a total douche-bag. You shouldn't be with him."_

_ "Oh, is that right?" she said, sounding amused. _

_ "Yes!" I said, frowning at how the word was slurred. I cleared my throat. "I think he has a thing for Rachel Berry. And on top of that, he's a dick. He makes those stupid 'women belong in the kitchen' jokes. And he doesn't deserve you at all."_

_ She laughed, though she tried to taper it off and ended up only unsuccessfully muffling her snickering behind her hand._

_ "I'm so serious, Q!" A warning light went off in my head, telling me to __**shut up,**__ that I had expressed my opinion enough. Normally I would tell Quinn what I thought when she asked, and then close my mouth about it. But I was much less than sober now, and something was urging me on. Maybe it was the fact that Finn was indeed a moron, and she deserved better. Or maybe I was just jealous. Either way, I plunged on. "He pressures you into having sex when you don't want to. If I were him I wouldn't do that to you." _

_ She managed to successfully hold back her laugh, but her smirk was obvious and so was the amusement in her eyes. "I bet you would," she said, and winked again._

_ My cheeks warmed with another blush__**. **_So I want to fuck you. Is it that obvious?

_ "Really," I insisted, ignoring her last statement and my last thought. "You're so awesome and he's a total meat-head. You should dump him. He doesn't deserve you."_

_ "Then he's a lucky meat-head," she teased before taking another drink._

_ "He is, actually," I said seriously. "But he's a dick. You're amazing and he's just an idiot. And he doesn't even kiss you right." She laughed, and I went on, "Honestly, Q. You're so beautiful, and he's an asshole who doesn't deserve you. You're _so beautiful_," I repeated, and watched as my statement sunk in, as it drew the laughter out of her eyes and replaced it with solemnness_. Shit, what am I doing?

_ There was silence, except for the crackling fire and the waves on the beach. The smile had faded from Quinn's face, and she was looking at me in a mixture of curiosity, wariness, and some kind of unknown intensity that puzzled me. Still, I didn't break eye contact with her. I watched the way her cheeks tinged pink before she deliberately turned, looked out at the water. I desperately wondered what she was thinking. God, I _wish_ I could read her mind. _

_ I waited a beat, then took the bottle of vodka out of her hands and drank the few remaining swigs of it. The silence between us stretched and grew more charged with something in the air, something that was thick and tense, giving me a dry mouth, a tingling body and an invisible fist pressing into my stomach. My mind was fuzzy and my eyes felt heavy, but my heart was beating rapidly, and my lips felt alive with nerves, perhaps in anticipation. Shame was also slinking into me. I felt guilty. I had never just flat out told Quinn that she was beautiful. I had lightly admitted it when she hinted at her doubt, and had jokingly conveyed it on occasion, but I had never said out loud in a serious voice that I found Quinn to be beautiful. It was something that should be so simple and harmless. Brittany could tell Quinn she was beautiful, and it was okay, they're friends. It should be okay with us too. Except I didn't have purely friendly feelings for Quinn, and I was sure Quinn already suspected that. If she hadn't before, she definitely did now._

_ The silence between us was awkward, and nearly so unbearable that I was about to stand up and declare I was going for a walk when Quinn unexpectedly slid off the log and down on the sand beside me. She scooted closer to me, to where the skin of my right arm and leg and her left arm and leg was barely touching. The sensation was electric, and it unnerved me. How could something so simple have such an effect on me? I had never in my life wanted anything more than to kiss her._

_ I didn't dare turn my head to look at her, certain that if I did, I wouldn't be able to resist dipping my head forward and pressing my lips to Quinn's. _

_ I stared forward, my eyes slightly wide as I observed the way the moon's reflection wavered on the lake water's surface. I fervently wished I was sober right now, or at least wasn't so close to drunkenness. I was terrified. What if I didn't have enough control? What if, in another five minutes, I couldn't take it anymore and I kissed Quinn? Our relationship would be ruined, surely. Quinn would never talk to me again. I would lose my best friend—_

_ She shifted her body, and out of the corner of my eyes, I saw her glance at me, her jaw set as though she were chewing on the inside of her cheek. What was she thinking?_

_ God, I just wanted to kiss her. I just wanted that one taste of my best friend, despite how off limits she was. How many times had I imagined kissing her? How many nights had I lain awake or fallen asleep dreaming of a chance to be able to have her in that way, even if only for a brief moment? I felt tears well up in my eyes at the unfairness of it all. Of my father not caring. Of me caring too much. Of how much I wished that Quinn were capable of seeing me the same way I saw her. Of how desperate I was to make her smile, and how pathetically easy it was for her to make me happy, by gestures as simple as looking at me or just breathing, just existing._

_ She scooted even closer, and this time she was looking at me, watching me with a type of hooded, cautious intensity. I had a split second to wonder what was happening before I unintentionally looked down and focused my gaze on her full, plump lips, just slightly parted to where I could see the white of her teeth. I subconsciously leaned toward her, catching myself before I could angle my lips onto hers. Just as I looked away at the water again, frantically wondering if I should get up and walk away before any damage could be done, she leaned forward, bringing her face close; I turned to look at her and took a sharp inhale of breath at the fact that our noses were only inches apart. My heart jumped sporadically; I dropped the empty vodka bottle in surprise. Quinn's hand replaced it as she intertwined our fingers. Stunned, I could only look into her eyes and struggle to draw breath, as I seemed to melt under her steady gaze._

Please let me kiss you.

_ I let my head jerk forward a half inch. Quinn didn't move, only continued to watch me, that strange warring of emotions conflicting on her features._

_ I let my eyes quickly flit around; there were multiple unconscious bodies around the shore. Most people had either left the party or passed out. Would that bother Quinn, that there were people around? Would it make her angry, to be caught kissing a girl?_

_ Did it matter? At this rate, with me continuing to draw nearer, she was going to be kissed whether she wanted it to happen or not. I couldn't control my movements even if I tried. In what felt like forever but must have only been an instant, I closed the distance between us. Our breath mixed together, hot and infused with vodka. Was it possible for a heart to beat its way through a chest?_

_ Slowly, her gaze lowered to hover on my parted lips. When she met my gaze again, it was smoldering beneath her long lashes. I felt a tremor rush through my body, initiated by the wild kick of my heart. She was too beautiful to cope with. It was _impossible_ to cope with. How was I expected to be around someone like her, and not put my lips on her? How had I managed not to do it for the past however many years?_

_ She tilted her head back and up, bringing her mouth closer to mine, to where the skin of our bottom lips nearly brushed together._

_ I closed my eyes, struggling to rein myself in. _Pull back_, I told myself firmly. _Pull back before something happens that you can't take back.

_ Then our lips touched, brushed one another and then pressed together. Shock ripped through me along with a stabbing heat. Had I moved my head forward? Had I kissed her without even meaning to? Had I..._

_ Her lips left mine, and then returned. Left and returned again. Three soft kisses. Three times my heart stopped and started again. Three times my best friend kissed me._

_ For she was kissing me, I realized, marveling as my eyes flew open and took in the sight of Quinn so close to me, her eyes closed and her cheeks reddened with a blush. _Oh my God. We're kissing.

Finally.

_ Her lips were so soft and warm. The taste was one I savored in my soul. My eyes drifted shut as she pulled back and pushed in again. Gently. Tenderly. Her lips were so unbelievably plump and soft. Slowly, tentatively, I did the same. Took my lips away, and then brought them back. Quinn didn't move, only did the same thing again. I took that as a sign of encouragement._

_ I suddenly realized that the way I felt about Quinn was not going to be appeased by a mere kiss. I_wanted_ her. Wanted to push her down in the sand and peel her clothes off her. I just wanted her._

_ And that was what made me realize that I had to make this memorable, and had to work twice has hard through my hazy, drunken mind. I cursed myself for drinking. I had to make this something Quinn wouldn't, _couldn't,_ forget. _

_ I kissed her, _really _kissed her. I parted my lips, slowly closed them over her bottom, then top lip. I felt hyper-aware of everything. Of our hands tightly holding one another. Of the skin of her arm and leg against mine. Of the way she made vodka taste good. Of the rushing noise in my ears, and the crazed beating of my heart. Of the heat that had seemed to explode in my skin, my stomach and the apex between my thighs._

_ I felt my heart sing when she began to move her lips in a sweet, blissful rhythm. When I gently slid my tongue along her bottom lip, silently begging for entry, she easily parted her lips and met my tongue with her own. The taste seemed to be explosive, even stronger than the taste of her lips. When she swept her tongue inside my mouth, I felt my heart being swept away as well. She was simply incredible. _

_ It was more than I had dreamed of. As our mouths moved together, I lifted a hand, slipped it beneath her damp tangles of heavy hair to cup the back of her neck and bring her even closer. I was growing greedier with my kisses, kissing her faster, deeper. I felt as though my stomach was punched with a velvet-covered fist when Quinn pulled the towel down from my shoulders and trailed her fingertips along my skin, from my shoulder to my wrist. When her grip clapped into my side, just under the bottom hem of my shirt, I did not expect my hips to buck in response, nearly planting me in Quinn's lap. Mortified, I pulled back, breaking the kiss. _

_ Her eyes fluttered open, and there was frustration and puzzlement in them. _Oh no. Don't stop.

_ She didn't. Without a word, she lifted a hand to tangle in my hair and tugged me back to her, kissing me again._

_ Panic was rising inside me. I wasn't quite myself, not with this alcohol dragging me down. Was I kissing as well as I normally did? Was she appreciating it? _

I have to be the best for her.

_ Determined, I kissed her more deeply, rolling my tongue against hers, hoping that wasn't stepping over the line. Judging by the whimper she made against my lips, I was guessing she enjoyed it. _

_ When she gently sank her teeth into my bottom lip, I couldn't stop the moan that escaped. Lust curled into me as easily as the anxiety that ebbed away. I let my hand wander down, over the flare of her back to grip her hip. _Just let me take your clothes off, one by one. Let me kiss you everywhere.

_ It felt like lightning had struck my body when she whispered my name, her voice husky. I had never heard her voice like that. It made my lips seek the hollow of her neck while my core pulsated, heat pooling. My fingertips danced near the skin beneath the bottom hem of her shirt and I struggled to decide whether or not I dared to slip my hands completely under it. _Or beneath her skirt. Either worked, really.

_ Then the person nearest to us, who had been lying unconscious near the log across from us, suddenly groaned and stirred. Quinn and I jumped apart, literally standing and stumbling back several steps from one another. We looked at each other, and the heat we were emitting was as palpable as the burning fire crackling between us. I was cursing and raging in my head at the asshole that was currently waking up. _Fuck off. Just let me kiss her again. Let me—

_ "Santana?" groaned the person, and when he rolled over, I saw that it was Sam Evans, a sophomore that had moved here the beginning of this year, who had asked Quinn out a couple weeks ago and was planning on joining the Glee Club this year. _

_ "What?" I snarled, eliciting a glare from Quinn. I couldn't help it; this numbskull had just torn me out of what I had only been dreaming about for years. This was my ultimate fantasy and it had finally come true...then he opened his fat mouth and yanked us into reality._

_ I felt my cheeks burn in humiliation as the reality of what just happened finally sank in. By the red in Quinn's face and the panic evident in her eyes, I could tell the same thing was happening to her. My stomach took a sick twist as a question occurred to me: did she regret it? _

_ "What time is it?" asked Sam, and I bit my tongue so I wouldn't scream at him. _The tongue that had just been in Quinn's mouth.

_ Furious, I fished my phone out of my pocket. "Half past four," I said, struggling to keep my voice at an even level, more for the fact that Quinn was scowling at me rather than it being unfair to Sam since he obviously had no idea what was going on.  
_

_"Ugh." He ran his hand over his face and then sat up, struggling to his feet. Quinn reached over to help him up. I didn't move, struggling to contain the crazy amount of emotions rushing through me. Lust, irritation, anguish, panic, concern, fury.  
_

_"Hey, look…" began Quinn, pulling her own cell phone out of her pocket as she released Sam to fare on his own, leaving him swaying where he stood. She was avoiding my gaze. "I should probably get going. If my parents realize I'm gone, they'll freak out."_

_ My mouth opened and closed, gone dry suddenly. My mind had been plunged into panic mode. _Wait. Don't leave. Kiss me again._  
_

_"I'll—I'll see you later." I saw a brief glimpse of the way her hazel eyes had gone cloudy with some kind of emotion. My heart dropped and my stomach took a sick twist when I realized what it was: shame. Embarrassment. Remorse.  
_

_"Okay," I said faintly.  
_

_My heart ached and tears stung my eyes as I watched her turn and walk away, her long golden waves of hair bouncing in the dim light from the half moon shining overhead. _

Fuck me. I just kissed Quinn Fabray._  
_

_I thought kissing her would be perfect, would be the solution to all my problems. I thought it would make me feel better.  
_

_I feel worse. Much worse.  
_

Great job, Lopez. You're fucking ruined.


	9. In the Swimming Pool

**Chapter IX**

* * *

**Santana's POV**

Brittany's eyes were wide and wondering, a surprised smile on her face. "Wow. I couldn't have imagined a first kiss like that."

"What, was ours not good enough?" I said gruffly, though I was more amused than anything. Brittany and I's first kiss had been one sunny afternoon on our way home from cheer camp. We kissed in my car, and while it had been sweet and precious, it had not made me feel even a portion of what my first kiss with Quinn had done to me.

"We had a lovely first kiss, but it wasn't as good as the kiss you just told me about. That was like a magic kiss," she added, and there was longing in her voice. I frowned a little, not sure how to take it. Longing because she wished she could have a kiss like that? Longing because Sam doesn't do any of that for her? Longing because her and I's kisses had never amounted to even close to what I just described to her? "It makes me sad," she explained, noticing my puzzled expression. "Because you and Quinn had a magical kiss but now you don't even talk to each other."

"I told you, it's a long story, Britt!" I exclaimed. "It was more complicated than that. We couldn't just be together. She didn't want to, for one."

"You can't kiss someone with magic and not want to be with them," she said.

"Well, she didn't. There were too many things in the way. Her parents are crazy. If Quinn and I started doing stuff together on a regular basis, then soon enough we would have been dating. And if her parents found out we were dating, they would probably have sent the whole town into a mob on a witch hunt. They're homophobic assholes. But it doesn't matter because she didn't want to date me anyway. I don't even know why she kissed me like that in the first place…"

"She wanted to," said Brittany with gentle insistence. "I think she liked you, too. As more than a friend."

"She couldn't have," I said in disbelief. "Every time we kissed, she pretended it never happened. She wouldn't talk to me about it. She regretted it every time."

"But that doesn't mean she regretted it because she didn't like doing it. Maybe she was just scared at what she did."

"What she did?" I repeated scathingly; I couldn't help it, this conversation was making my back go up because of how touchy the subject was. I didn't need to sit here talking aloud about all this just to arrive to the conclusion that I already knew: Quinn didn't see me the same way that I saw her.

"She kissed a girl. Quinn's parents didn't understand ladylove and so they would probably have like, totally hated her if they knew what she was doing, and if they hated her then she would have to go somewhere else and her whole life would change. But it's even more serious than just her kissing a lady, she kissed her best friend. So if her parents found out and were unhappy with her, or you were unhappy with her, or both, she would lose her parents, her best friend, or both, and her life would not be oh so magical anymore."

Brittany's forward way of thinking stunned me, as usual. She seemed to guess as much. "What happened the next time you kissed?" she asked, switching the subject.

Still disturbed by the direction my thoughts had taken, I said hollowly, "We didn't kiss again until a month later."

"Tell me about it."

Uncertain and hurting, I exhaled shakily, then nodded, determined to get through this if only because of how much I did_ not_ want to be doing this. "Okay. It was in summer. Our first kiss had been a month before, and it had been awkward since then. We never mentioned our first kiss, and I kind of wondered if maybe she had been drunk too and maybe she didn't remember it fully. But I remembered it and I had been drunk. And it was all I thought about…and to make things worse, I felt like she had no excuse not to be with me now, because she finally broke up with Finn."

"When he cheated on her with Rachel," said Brittany matter-of-factly.

I nodded. "Yeah. So I thought maybe she would want to be with me now. But it was too hard to ask her so I just hoped maybe she'd bring it up, but I wasn't too hopeful since we had kissed a month ago and she still hadn't even mentioned it once. And we flirted all the time. It was really confusing, and after awhile I just started to think that maybe it was a drunken thing and she hadn't meant for it to happen…but then, a couple days after she broke up with Finn, I went over to her house to hang out with her and we went swimming…"

* * *

_"You know, I have to say, I'm so glad I dumped Finn."_

_I looked over to where Quinn was floating leisurely at the water's surface, the sunlight glinting off her oversized sunglasses. I tried not to let my eyes wander from her face to where her bikini-clad body lay shining with glistening droplets of water._

_"Me too." I sucked in a deep breath and sank below the water's surface, abandoning floating. I came up moments later right beneath Quinn._

_I could hear her squeal gargled through the water as I pulled her under. When we both came up for air, she was spluttering and I was cracking up._

_"Ha, ha, very funny." She seized the sunglasses that were currently sinking toward the bottom of the pool, and set them on the side. Then she turned toward me, a mischievous light in her hazel eyes that told me she was about to exact her revenge._

_"No, no, no," I said quickly, laughing as I swam back. "You deserved that!"_

_"Why, exactly?" she asked as she advanced on me, her smile as wicked as the glint in her eyes._

_"That was my revenge for you never listening to me about Finn." I grinned at her surprised expression and the way my words made her halt in her wade toward me. "I told you he was a dick."_

_"Yeah, yeah, you told me." She rolled her eyes, her smile returning. "And I'm sure you'll rub it in my face all weekend."_

_"Oh, I definitely will. He was such an asshole," I said savagely. I was so incredibly happy inside, though. Four months she'd been with him, and every day I had to listen to his stupid lame jokes and watch him kiss her with his stupid gaping mouth and his stupid over-enthusiastic tongue. "I can't stand him." _

_Quinn was watching me curiously, as though she could hear the passionate remarks I was making in my head. "Why do you hate him so much?"_

_"I don't hate him...I just strongly dislike him." I lifted my legs, using my arms to keep me afloat as I continued, "He's just completely immature. Every five seconds making those stupid 'women belong in the kitchen' jokes, or the 'make me a sandwich' stuff in front of all his buddies to make himself look like a hardass." I snorted. "Ironic, since the minute you walked in the room, he'd turn into a pathetic moron instead."_

_At Quinn's confused expression, as though she wasn't sure whether I had just insulted her or given her a compliment, I hastily added, "When he kissed you. Seriously, he ate your face."_

_"Oh." Quinn laughed then. "He pretty much did eat my face. He didn't know what he was doing."_

_"Exactly," I agreed whole-heartedly. "He shoved his tongue down your throat. He looked like an eleven year old trying to kiss someone with finesse."_

_She grinned. "Hey, I don't know about you but when I was eleven, I kissed with finesse." _

_"Yeah right," I chuckled. "When you were eleven, if I remember correctly, you were busy kissing your stuffed animals."_

_"I will have you know that Cheeto was an expert kisser who taught me many tricks," she laughed, splashing water at me._

_I splashed back at her. "He was a cheetah, and I think he was a little too fast for you." I winked._

_"Okay first of all, that was lame," she bantered. "Secondly, Cheeto was a she, actually."_

_"A she?" I said, ceasing the splashing in my surprise. As a result, the well-aimed shove of water she pushed at me hit me right in the face. "Shit." I rubbed my fists into my burning eyes, which didn't exactly help._

_"Here," said Quinn, crossing the space between us and leaning over me. She handed me a towel. "And yes, a __**she.**__ And she was a good little inanimate kisser."_

_I started to scrub my eyes, cursing when it only made them burn worse. Quinn clucked her tongue, snatched the towel from my grip, folded it and dabbed my eyes gently. _

_"You obviously haven't been kissed well, if you think that your childhood stuffed animal was a good kisser."_

_She stopped dabbing, and I slowly blinked with trepidation. When the burning sensation didn't occur, I blinked until they felt pretty much normal. "Thanks."_

_"Don't act like you've had any better, because I know you took to kissing that stuffed whale you had once or twice." She smirked tauntingly._

_I blushed despite myself. "Jesus. You remember that?"_

_"Yep, and I always will. After all, how can I forget walking in your room..." She lifted her arms like that of a ballerina and began to spin in swerving circles. "…and seeing you dancing around, giggling like an idiot and French-kissing 'Free Willy'?"_

_"God," I groaned, wincing at the memory. "Curse you and your freakishly accurate memory."_

_She shrugged as she said, "It's a curse and a blessing."_

_"Either way, stuffed animals aside, I've definitely had better kisses than you." I raised my eyebrows defiantly when she raised hers challengingly. "Oh, I have, Quinn, and you know it."_

_"I beg to differ," she said, upturning her nose in a playfully snobby manner that reminded me of her when we were children. "Sure you've kissed a lot of people, but they weren't much to brag about."_

Except you_, I thought, but that was something we would never speak of. "No, no. I have kissed a lot of people, and most of them were definitely brag-worthy.__** You**__ have kissed not so many people, and none of them were anything to brag about."  
"Quality over quantity, love," she countered, and I arched a brow at the term, fighting to keep back my smile. "I've kissed Trevor Mills, Sam Evans, Kyle Davis, Joe Hart, Noah Puckerman, and Finn Hudson. Finn sucked, Kyle and Joe were okay, Sam and Trevor were pretty good, and so was Puck, despite his annoying personality."_

_"So you've kissed like two people who didn't completely suck. I still win."_

_Quinn shrugged, and her casual smugness infuriated me. "Mine still beats yours."_

_"I've kissed way better than you have," I said indignantly. "The best kiss you've ever had was probably from Cheeto."_

_She angled her head and said, "She wasn't my best kiss, actually."_

_"Then who was?" I demanded._

_She leaned forward, a smile playing on her face. My heart skipped a beat at her sudden proximity. "None of your beeswax."_

_"Probably Finn." I sniffed derisively, hoping it would strike a nerve, but she only smiled at me._

_"Maybe," she said evasively._

_"Ugh!" Frustrated, I clapped my hands on the water's surface, splashing us both a bit. Quinn began to laugh, and I couldn't help but to join in despite my obvious exasperation. "You have got to be kidding me! He seriously couldn't even kiss you right!"_

_Quinn grew quiet, her laughter subsiding as a mischievously thoughtful expression appeared on her face instead. She smiled again, turned to me and said, "Okay, you kiss me right, then."_

_My laughter seemed to freeze and remain etched on my face. When I spoke, a nervous chuckle was in my voice. "Uh, what?"_

_"Go on, show me." Quinn swept her arms out and began to drift towards me. I hastily backed away, which was tragically slowly considering we were in water. "Show me what the right way to kiss me is."_

_"Er...how would I know?" I was stalling, obviously. But I didn't know how to react to this. At first I thought it was a joke, but by the calm smile on Quinn's face, I didn't think so. If it were, she would have that glint in her eyes._

_She advanced on me until my back was against the pool wall. "Well, you wouldn't," she said, clearly intent on both teasing me and continuing the ruse of pretending we hadn't kissed four weeks ago.  
I narrowed my eyes. "_You _haven't had a good kiss. But don't feel bad; again, you haven't kissed nearly as many people as I have."_

_"And again, quality over quantity," she said. _

_"Cheeto must be a good quality cheetah," I said, frustrated. Desperation had crept into my tone. Quinn's eyes had gone darker. Good. Maybe she would be annoyed into backing off. _

_But she only laughed. "Look, we can just call this our little experiment. I can experiment by seeing what it's like to kiss a girl, and you can experiment by seeing what if feels like to kiss who can actually kiss well."_

_It had loosened me up like she'd wanted it to. I laughed, aware that while she'd said that as a joke to make me feel better, there was a truth to it. I chewed on my bottom lip, contemplating._

_Quinn was right in my face. She was so close I could see the drops of water clinging to her long lashes. She was so beautiful it made my heart hurt, and all day watching her in that blue bikini had made me so..._

_I really wanted her. And that was the problem. I wanted her so bad, and I knew exactly how this kiss would end. Just like the first one; we would never mention it again. Because that was Quinn's style._

I don't want to pretend this never happened,_ I thought anxiously. I wanted to be able to do it again whenever I wanted, actually. But I knew that was way too much to ask of her. She didn't look at me that way. Our first kiss we had been drunk. And now, if we kiss again, it will be for the sake of proving a point. She can probably mock me afterwards, claiming now she definitely knows she hasn't had a good kiss or something like that. _

_But still...this was Quinn. Kissing her was worth being mocked. If it was anything like our first kiss, than it was worth much more. _

_I tilted my head, my gaze shifting from Quinn's hazel eyes to her pink lips. I would never be able to explain what she did to my heart, how fast she made it beat and how hard. Tentatively, I nodded. As if I had to decide whether I wanted to kiss her. My choice was obvious, and it always would be._

_"Make it good," she teased, but there was no smile on her face. Her eyes had grown even darker and were fixated on my mouth. I realized that her eyes had not darkened a second ago out of anger; it was out of lust. My heart raced frantically as Quinn angled her head, dipping it down to bring her face close to mine._

Oh, fuck it. Just kiss her. It's the only thing I want to do._ "Just remember you asked for this," I said softly, and her head jerked back, but I only moved mine forward, closing the space between us and pressing my lips to hers._


	10. Searing

**Chapter X**

* * *

**QUINN'S POV**

_"Just remember you asked for this," whispered Santana._

_I jerked back in response, shocked. Shocked that she would do that, that she would put all the blame on me, as though she didn't want to kiss me. Then horror dawned on me; what if she didn't want to? I thought that this was a clever idea, using the excuse of a playful experiment to do again to her what I've wanted to do each day for the past month. It had been tearing at me every moment, clawing at my heart; I was desperate to taste her again._

_So when she moved her head forward and kissed me, I was relieved to say the least._

_I was ecstatic._

_I couldn't stop the noise that caught in my throat like a purr, couldn't stop myself from parting my lips and dipping a tongue in her mouth, sweeping it against hers and tasting that incredibly sharp, dark taste that was all Santana Lopez._

_My arms seem to lift of their own accord, slipping my hands into the damp clouds of her hair. Our lips moved in a slow, blissful rhythm, perfectly in tune, and perfectly matched. It was as though our bodies knew exactly how to act together. When her tongue traced the outline of my bottom lip, my lips closed over it, sucking gently before releasing it. And when her cupped hand slid from my cheek to my neck and then dropped, I caught it and placed it on my waist. My eyes drifted open when she kissed the tip of my nose. It was a sweet gesture, an intimate one, and should have sent me scrambling out of the pool. I mean really, what was I doing? I should have learned from the first kiss, from the moment when I sat next to her in the sand feeling so desperate to be close to her. I knew what would happen; I knew that we would end up kissing. I should have learned this last summer when I tried to convince myself that my feelings for my best friend were strictly platonic. I should have learned when I watched her walk out of the bathroom wearing that red bikini and I felt every nerve in my body become alive._

_I shouldn't be kissing her. I knew that. But in this moment, with her hands on my skin and her kiss searing through me, I really didn't care._

* * *

"Wow," said Rachel, her expression one of awe. "I can't believe this. It's so weird to imagine you and Santana together. I mean weird like different," she added quickly when she saw my expression. "When you think about it, it actually kind of makes sense."

"What do you mean? What makes sense?"

"You and Santana. I mean, you two are the only ones who challenge each other. It's perfect, really. You're each other's equal. No one can calm Santana down like you can, and no one can tell you off like Santana does. You balance each other out."

God, it hurt my heart to hear words like that.

"To be perfectly honest, I don't know how anyone didn't see it sooner," continued Rachel. "Maybe because I never would have imagined you with anyone other than a boy."

I snorted before I could stop it. It was funny, really, because Santana was the only relationship I'd ever had that actually meant something. She was the first girl I had ever kissed, and the only girl actually, apart from my drunken kisses with Tris and Holly. Santana's was the only one that mattered. And I knew, perhaps had known since I was thirteen years old in eighth grade and Santana confessed to me that she liked girls, that I liked _her._ Maybe I wasn't bisexual. Maybe I wasn't a lesbian. Maybe I wasn't straight. Maybe I was none of those things, because since I was twelve years old and my hormones kicked in, the only excitement I ever felt had been given to me by Santana. I didn't understand it. What did that make me? Santana-ian? Santanian? Lopezian? It made literally no sense.

"Maybe you should talk to her…I mean, it can't hurt anything? Right?"

By the expression I gave her, she clearly realized it _could_ hurt. It could hurt a lot of things.

"Maybe it has to get worse before it can get better," she said quickly. She seemed to regain her natural flair then, and sat up straighter, her neck extending as she lifted her head high. "Look, Quinn, this is completely new and, while unexpected, it is wholly at the same time _expected_. You know how…dramatic…I can act at times. If this had truly surprised me, you and Santana, don't you think I would have reacted more…outrageously?"

I watched her. "What's your point?" I asked, and my voice was surprisingly steady.

"My point is that this makes sense. It's like me and Finn, or Kurt and Blaine, or Mike and Tina. Except it makes even more sense than that because it sounds different."

Rachel took a deep breath, a steely glint in her eyes as though she knew that what she was about to say next was something I wouldn't like.

"I think…that you and Santana need to speak about all this to one another. You need to call a truce."


	11. Home

**Chapter XI**

* * *

**Santana's POV**

_Though our kiss initially began slow and soft, it had already progressed into something more potent. I swear the taste of her tongue made me high._

_The pool water sloshed as she pressed me back fully against the wall. The jolt broke our kiss, but she only moved her lips to my neck, kissed me greedily as my hands flexed open, my fingers splaying, my fingertips digging into the small of her back. She gripped my hair harder, drawing a sharp inhale from me as she pulled me closer to her. Inadvertently, her thigh pressed into the apex between my legs, and I gasped._

_What she did next definitely surprised me. I don't exactly know why, maybe it was because after our first kiss, she had been eager to pretend it was completely forgotten, but I had expected the movement would somehow slap her into reality. That the noise I made, one of obvious pleasure, would smack her right in the face with the fact that what we were doing right now was actually happening. That we were kissing, not softly or sweetly, but with a fervent heat and hunger that was currently blasting my insides into a wet, hot, tangled disarray._

_But she didn't break away from me and stumble back with an expression of regret evident on her face. No, what she did was lift her leg again, and press it even harder into me. We both moaned at the same time._

_My lips sought hers again, skimming over her face before taking purchase on hers. Her tongue massaged mine, and I had a brief moment to marvel over just how great of a kisser she was before one of my legs slid between hers of its own accord, lifted and pressed my thigh into her as she had done to me. Her eyes flew open in surprise, and the noise she made sounded feline and guttural. As they drifted closed again, pleasure radiated through my entire body, and the hunger in me that had already been simmering exploded into heated, fiery, urgent need._

_I flattened my body against hers, lifting my hands to rake my nails down her back. That was my version of giving a hint._

_Air sucked through her clenched teeth with a loud hiss. When she opened her eyes, they were a dark jade, reminding me of moonlight and shadows slanting over fields of green._

_She moved her leg, grinding her thigh into me, and I had to slap my arms down on the sides of the pool to steady myself, my chest heaving. Furious with how much I wanted her, I met her heated gaze._

_"Bedroom?" I nearly growled._

_"Yes," she snarled._

_We scrambled to climb out of the pool. Before I could get to my feet, she pounced on top of me, taking away more of my breath as her weight descended on me. We lay on wet concrete, her lips moving against mine before I even had the time to draw oxygen into my lungs._

_We both struggled to our feet. It was miraculous that we were hurrying toward the house, considering our mouths were still fused together as we went. _

_She slammed me against the door, and by this time I was already gasping for breath. But still I groped at her, tugging her close by her long clouds of damp blonde hair. Her hand fumbled beside me for the door handle, and we nearly tumbled to the ground as the door swung open. I stumbled into the kitchen, whirling around to see her slamming the door shut behind her. I had an instant to see her countenance before she met me, cupped my face in her hands and kissed me. Her expression was enough to make me tremble where I stood. I took loud, ragged gasps of breath as I sucked air in, squeezing my eyes shut as I struggled not to moan too loudly and scare her off. But how was I supposed to maintain any semblance of normalcy when she looked at me with so much desire I knew it was only a matter of time before this bathing suit was clawed off of me?_

_I couldn't help it when my hands dropped to her ass and squeezed. Couldn't help it when I dropped my lips to her neck, licked over where her pulse was pounding before sucking it into my mouth. Couldn't help it when I moaned loudly at her resulting whimper. And I definitely couldn't help it when I looked around the kitchen desperately for something, anything to lie on because the beds were too far away. I used an arm to sweep empty glasses and used plates off the table. They shattered on the floor as I lifted Quinn off her feet and set her on the hardwood surface. She gripped me by my hair and tugged me on after her, and I crawled on top of her, lowering myself down on her as my lips sank into hers._

_She moved her lips from my neck to my ear, and gently bit down on my ear lobe, nibbling her way around to the flesh behind my ear. "San," she murmured, and her voice was so husky, so full of dark, unspoken promises that I moaned again. _

_Our lips and our hands were anywhere and everywhere. I was frantic for her, desperate. Blood was rushing in my veins and my pulse was roaring in my ears. I had no words to describe how I felt, how Quinn was making me feel. All I knew was that I never wanted it to end, never, ever end. I could do this every day for the rest of forever._

_I licked my way down to her chest, started to nudge aside her bikini top before her hand snuck down between us and touched me between my legs, over my bikini bottoms. I stilled over her, my mouth falling open in surprise. I had not expected her to touch me there, even over the clothes. I had not even registered that her legs were spread open and I lay between them._

_I bit my lip to stop myself from crying out when she moved her hand, pressing her fingers down, applying a firm pressure and moving in slow circle. I spared a desperately grateful thought of appreciation that we had decided to go swimming today, hoping that the wetness of my skin and bathing suit would cover up the fact that I was completely wet for her._

_Our mouths moved in a deliciously complex synchronization, our tongues curving and twisting together. I couldn't believe I went an entire month without the taste of her. I had _needed_ the taste of her. _

_My gut felt as though an iron palm composed purely of desire was pressing it in. I wanted her so much. My own hands drifted down, my wrist rubbing against Quinn's as I reached for the number one thing I wanted at the moment, which was located between her legs. My fingers trailed the flat of her stomach, just reaching her bikini bottom and beginning to slip under it when she abruptly sat up and flipped us over so she was straddling me. I felt my remaining air_whoosh_ out of my lungs as I looked up at her. She was so beautiful, and God, she looked insanely hot, her skin shining with water and sweat, her hair cascading down her shoulders in wild volumes of golden hair, her lips reddened and swollen from the kissing we'd been doing, her hazel eyes somehow bright and dark at the same time, her cheeks flushed, and her breasts, God her breasts, just right there in front of me covered by nothing but a thin layer of bikini, and her legs spread apart, her thighs on both sides of my waist, and the most sensitive part of her body that I was so eager to touch right there pressed against my lower stomach._

_My hips bucked without any consent from me, and Quinn's eyes went opaque, as I pressed harder against her._

_She bent down and ravished my mouth with hers, biting my lip so hard I thought I could taste blood. My nails scraped against her back as I groped blindly for the string that tied her bikini top around her. The noise she breathed into my ear when I pulled the top loose and untied it was one of fervent appreciation._

_I reached under the now loose top, felt my insides pound and electrify as I massaged her breasts. I had thought it would be weird for her, seeing as how this was the first time another girl was touching her breasts, let alone the fact that it was me. But she didn't seem to mind; in fact, judging by the groan she made that was muffled against my mouth, she enjoyed it. And all I wanted to do was get my mouth on them too._

_I hooked a finger in the center of her top to pull it off her as she gripped my bikini bottom with two hands at either side of my hips, about to tug it down. My heart was hammering a tattoo against my chest, heat had pooled and flooded over between my legs, and I was so close to finally having Quinn the way—_

_And then we both froze when the doorbell rang. _

_My heart dropped to my toes and I went cold all over as terror enveloped me. Quinn leapt off the table in an instant, her expression similar to one a deer would have caught in headlights as a car came barreling toward it. The strings of her bikini top were swinging near her lower back and she had her hands clutching her top to chest. Jolting back into action, I jumped off the table, hastened to Quinn and quickly began to tie the bikini back on. The doorbell rang again, and I felt a numbness wash over me. What if it was my mother? What if she had rang the doorbell while we were outside and went around the back to see if we were swimming just as we burst into the house and she saw us through the window?_

_We both scurried to the door and peered out of the peephole to see a tall blonde man standing outside the door with a pleasant, albeit smug, smile on his face._

_"It's my dad," whispered Quinn, her voice hollow with shock as she turned to face me._

_I was pretty surprised too. As far as I knew, Quinn hadn't seen her father in person for several weeks. He had been in Washington for whatever politics business crap he was invested in._

_I didn't know what to say to her. Inside, I was frustrated. I wanted her to tell me she wanted to be with me and send her father away and take my hand and lead me up to her bedroom and let me take her, in all the ways I'd always dreamed of taking her. But that wasn't fair. That was selfish of me. She never saw her dad. I of all people knew how that felt. There was no way I could keep her from seeing hers._

_I could see frustration and anguish in her eyes, and an apology in the grimace she gave me. I lifted my arms and cupped the back of her neck in one hand, using the other to slip into her hair and gently pull her close to me. I wasn't stupid. I knew this would end the same way our first kiss did: never mentioning it again. So I was going to have one last kiss, even if her dad was standing on the other side of the door._

_She whimpered quietly against my lips before she parted her own, softly traced the outline of my lips with her tongue. When she rolled that tongue against mine, I felt lust slam into me again. I spared another frustrated imagining of how much I wanted to just take her upstairs before I pulled back and gently unattached myself from her. _

_I took a clean robe from the couch and tossed it to her, and she slipped it on. "I'll go out the back door," I mouthed to her, and she nodded._

_My heart was heavy as I quietly went out the back, taking my clothes as I went. I drove home in my bikini with one of Quinn's towels draped over my shoulders. _

_I couldn't believe what just happened. I felt numb with the shock. Quinn and I had kissed again..._

_We had done more than kiss, I marveled. If we had given it another few minutes, we probably would have been having sex._

_But why think about that now? Why think of that, when that was probably the closest we would ever get?_

_I reached my house, climbed out of my car. "Wow," said my mother as she opened the front door and took in the sight of me. "Who died?"_

_"Very funny," I snapped as I stalked past her and headed up the stairs._

_"It was only a joke, _mija_," she said amiably, closing the door after me._

_I ignored her and went to my room, locking the door behind me._

* * *

I swallowed hard in a futile attempt to rid myself of the lump that was currently obscuring my throat. Brittany sat at the end of the bed, observing me in silence, her light blue eyes appearing almost gray in somberness.

I sniffed, pushing away the tears that threatened to overflow my eyes. "Why do you look so sad, Britt?" I asked, my voice hoarse.

She shook her head wordlessly.

"Tell me," I persisted. "What is it?"

"I just feel sorry."

"Sorry?" My brows creased. "Why would you feel sorry? You haven't done anything—"

"I feel sorry that you can have two magic kisses and they don't mean anything," she interrupted.

I stared at her. Not mean anything? How could she say they didn't mean anything, when they meant everything? "That's not true," I said in disbelief.

"If it's not true then why do you and Quinn hate each other?" she interjected.

_Because she didn't want to be with me. Because she led me on and then ended it before I could even do anything about it. Because she made me leave her, and then hated me for it. Because I hated myself for it._

"We don't," I said faintly. "We're just angry at each other."

A quote that I read a few weeks ago came back to me, suddenly. _'Beneath anger there is always pain.'_

"You were fighting. You pushed her down, and she hit you. Right?"

Reluctantly, I nodded, lowering the cup that had been pressed to my cheek. The ice had melted long ago, and the coolness of the plastic had faded while my face had grown even hotter when I had told Brittany about Quinn and I's second kiss.

"That's not good. You know I will never condone bullying or violence."

"I know, Britt," I began, exasperated already because Brittany was always going on and on about how she doesn't condone bullying or violence. "We weren't bullying—"

"You were bullying," she cut across me, her tone and her expression becoming mildly stern. "Earlier tonight at the restaurant, you bullied that waitress. I saw you through the doorway, you said something mean that made her look like she wanted to cry, and it upset Quinn. And then just now, you pushed Quinn down."

"After she fucking slapped me!" I burst in outrage.

"Language," said Brittany crossly, and after I narrowed my eyes but didn't say anything, Brittany went on, "Since Junior year, you and Quinn have been frosty."

I arched a brow, and would have been amused at the term if I wasn't so damn pissed off.

"Frosty. You turn into ice statues when you're around each other. You don't move and you don't say anything and you don't even look at each other. Except I see you look at her sometimes, when you think I'm not looking."

Sorrow folded in on me then, and my stomach hurt. Oh, no. The whole time we were dating, had Brittany saw that? She was so much more astute than anyone gave her credit for. "I'm sorry. I tried not to."

"It's okay. Everyone always looks at Quinn, so I thought maybe you were looking at her because of that too, because Quinn is beautiful. And everyone looks at you too, because you're beautiful, so I thought that was why Quinn was always looking at you. But now I get it. You look at each other because you love each other."

"_I don't love her_," I hissed vehemently, immediately jumping to my feet. Despite the fact that I now towered over Brittany, she only blinked balefully up at me. I glared down at her, my chest heaving, but there was a tightness that was sending me into a panic. It was like an animal being backed into a corner. I had nowhere to run, nothing to look at but Brittany's accusing baby blue eyes and my pale, stricken reflection in them. I was a waste, an empty husk of what a person was supposed to be. Everything in me that made me who I am, all the good about myself, was in the girl in the room across the hall, the girl who had left a stinging red mark on my face where her palm had made contact.

I became mortified when I realized tears had rolled over the curves of my cheeks and were dripping off my chin. I brushed them away with my fingertips, then as more began to flow, I used the heel of my hand to scrub at them.

Brittany reached over, gently tugged down my arms, and in my lap, held my hands between hers. I sniffled, again and again as that panic threatened to reach its claws right out of my throat. Desperate to feel anything except this ghost of Quinn always hovering over my soul, I leaned forward and pressed my lips to Brittany's.

She kissed me back softly, sweetly. When I pushed my tongue into her mouth, she massaged it with her own. Though I urged into her, urging the pace to increase, she resolutely kept the rhythm gentle and slow. I was desperate to forget about Quinn and the pain associated with her, desperate to feel someone else beneath me. I knew Brittany understood that, and because of that, she would not get beneath me. For one wild instance, I considered finding that waitress for the restaurant and asking if she'd be interested in a quick fling, no strings attached. I dismissed that as quickly as the idea came to me.

"You know what you need to do, right?" asked Brittany lightly, leaning back and untangling herself from my arms.

"Buy some alcohol?" I weakly joked.

She shook her head. "No, Santana." She reached up, caressed my cheek. "You need to talk to Quinn," she said gently.

"No way," I said immediately, shaking my head. "Did you not listen to anything I just told you? She was my best friend. I fell in love with her. Maybe she fell in love with me, maybe she didn't, but she definitely could have. She liked me. Always flirting with me, always making me think I had a chance. And when I took the leap, when I asked her to be with me, she said no. She said she didn't see me that way. She lied right to my face. And then we didn't speak to each other for two years. Two years. I'm supposed to just forget that?"

"Look, I'm going to be honest with you, and you can't get mad at what I say." She lifted a finger, pointed threateningly at me. "Okay?"

"Fine."

"You need to apologize too. It's not just her fault. Quinn went through a lot, her sister died and her mom and dad kicked her out and she had a baby. You should have talked to her the moment—"

"I couldn't, okay!" I cried, and fresh tears poured down my face as guilt swamped over me. Because really, Brittany was right. And Quinn had been right. I should have talked to her, I should have been there for my best friend. But I was selfish and scared. I had been a coward.

"You were scared if you got close to her again, she would hurt you."

And I should have done it anyway. After all, she was my best friend first. The love of my life second. I think.

I hung my head, my shoulders shaking. Without another word, Brittany wrapped her arms around me, held me in a tight embrace. It was in her arms that I cried, cried until I thought there couldn't possibly me anything left in me.

But there was one thing left. And it was a strange mix of trepidation and excitement. I didn't understand how I could go two years hating someone, and when faced with the possibility of attempting to reunite with them, I look forward to it. If anything, I should be dreading it and shuddering under the urge to run and never look back. But I wasn't. I mean, I was dreading it, don't get me wrong. It would be painful and awkward and like a fresh stab wound to the heart. But somehow, in the midst of it all, this was what I should have done all along.

My heart was with my former best friend, and therefore belonged to Quinn Fabray. And maybe that was wrong, because she was never supposed to be more than a friend to me. But either way, whether I was enduring for a friend or striving for a lover, it was like I was returning home.


	12. Keep Holding On

**Chapter XII**

* * *

**Santana's POV**

I sat outside outside my room waiting for Rachel and Quinn to finish talking for almost an hour. I didn't know what they were speaking about, but I assumed Rachel was probably trying to irritate Quinn into telling her what went down between us when she and Brittany came into the room. Quinn was stubborn though, so I supposed that was why their conversation was taking so long.

Finally, when the doorknob rattled and the door was pulled open, I leapt to my feet. As Rachel passed me, she gave me a wink. I frowned at her retreating back, pausing in the doorway. _What the hell was that about?_

In the room, Quinn stood near her bed, her eyes red and her cheeks pink. She had been crying too, it looked like. Maybe Rachel had succeeded in her attempts after all.

I cleared my throat, feeling awkward and uncomfortable and ridiculously nervous as I entered the room, closing the door softly behind me.

There was silence for a while, until I finally worked up the courage to speak.

"Um…can we talk?"

She tilted her head, watching me. Her arms were folded beneath her breasts, and her shoulders seemed particularly slender in the thin green shirt she wore. She shrugged and nodded at the same time.

"Um..." God, was _um_ all I could say?"I think I owe you an apology…a big one. That's long overdue."

She didn't speak, only continued to watch me. Uncertain what else to do or say, I just quailed under her gaze. Her almond-shaped eyes were intent on me, searching, as though she were trying to discern exactly what my motives were. It almost demoralized me; _how was I expected to apologize when she was so suspicious already?_

"I'm sorry," I said, swallowing hard at the wave of fresh emotions saying the word aloud had brought me. _Shame, pain, relief. Fear._ How would she take it? How would she reply?

I waited a full unnerving minute before she found the words to speak.

"Thank you," she said slowly, her voice soft. Her brows were drawn into a line, her face tight and her body taut, but her eyes were soft. "I, um…accept…your apology."

"You do?" I blurted, embarrassing myself. But I couldn't help it. I was stunned, to be honest. I had expected this to go with her refusing my apology, slapping me again and storming out. I had not expected this at all.

"I…had a talk with Rachel. Well, more like a lecture, but she helped me…clear my head out, I guess." I heard the audible swallow Quinn took. "I'm not going to lie and pretend that I don't think I deserve an apology way more than you do, but for what it's worth, I'm sorry, too. For slapping you. And for…giving you the wrong impression…before."

My body tightened along with my heart. The wrong impression? That had been a minimal part of the pain she had given. Most of it had been from her lying about her own feelings…but I had begun to wonder whether or not it had been lying, or if she had honestly believed it herself.

But I had to let that go. I had to let that go and forgive, in order to heal and move on. It was something I had resolutely, stubbornly, and idiotically refused to do for the past two years. And something that, I realized now, I absolutely _must_ do. "I accept your apology too, then."

We were plunged into silence again, and as it grew more uncomfortable, I understood that I needed to say more. I walked forward, ignoring how her eyes flashed up to meet mine, her brows lifting in some kind of mixture between surprise and panic. "Listen to me. I'm serious. I'm so, so sorry. I'm so sorry I wasn't there for you. You were right, I wasn't, and I should have been." As I spoke, my words came more and more rapidly, practically spewing from my lips as unbidden tears sprang forth to my eyes. The entirety of my body seemed to radiate with pain that echoed with each agonizing beat of my heart. Quinn seemed to mirror my pain, so perfectly that I wasn't sure if it were my agony reflected in her almond eyes, or if it was her own pain. "I am a terrible, horrible person. You were my best friend, and I wasn't there for you. When Frannie—" My voice caught, broke at her name. I hadn't been particularly close to Quinn's sister, since she was three grades above me after all, but she had always been nice to me. Frannie and Quinn's grandmother had been my reprieve within her family, where otherwise her mother always treated me coldly and her father with outright disdain.

Tears had pooled in Quinn's eyes, and I was seized with the urge to hug her, to hold her so tight neither of us could breath but that was alright because all we had to do to survive was to hold on to each other.

But we were not those people anymore. We no longer had that relationship, and had not for two years, and that wasn't something that could be easily mended with a mere apology, no matter how heartfelt it was.

"I'm so sorry, Q," I whispered; whispering was the only way I could speak without my voice breaking again.

"I…" Her voice had dropped to a whisper too. I watched the way her lips parted, moved as she whispered to me again. It was endless, timeless, like falling into the same routine I had lived and breathed my entire life. I knew every possible movement those lips could make, knew each way her tongue moved, flicked and rolled in order to make the words she spoke. "I don't _need_ anyone. But…I wouldn't…mind…if we were…friends…again."

I felt frozen inside, not cold but frozen, if that made sense. Like a fire had been lit within me, and then frozen with electricity. It was nonsensical, but, it was marvelous. I had completely given up hope that Quinn and I would ever have any type of relationship again. But now, she was suggesting we become friends again? _Was I dreaming? _

"Are you...really?" My mouth was open, my jaw slack in my surprise.

She nodded, slowly. "I don't have many people left in my life, Santana. So I guess when I have the opportunity to bring one back into it, I should welcome them. Right?"

Her voice was trembling, and I knew what that meant. Even two years later with all that had happened since, I knew what that meant. In the past, whenever she stood before me like this, quivering with her arms folded beneath her breasts, her hands clutching her own forearms as though she were trying to hug herself, her eyes beseeching mine, her lips pursed, her head slightly angled to the side, and knowing what she wanted, I would go to her, wrap my arms around her and hold her until she cried all of her pain out. Now, her eyes were not beseeching and her lips were not pursed, and I knew that even if she did want what we used to have, we both knew that it would take time before we reached there.

So I was completely and utterly astonished when she shot across the room, threw her arms around me, and tackled me so hard that I stumbled. The back of my knees hit the bed and we both tumbled down on it.

_Oh my God_. The feel of her arms wrapped around me, of her body pressed against mine. Her soft golden hair beneath my chin, her cheek pressed to my shoulder, her breath warm on my skin. How was her waist still so slim after she'd had a child? How did she still feel the exact same as before?

"I missed you," she choked out.

I lifted my arms and enveloped myself around her. My legs raised of their own accord, hooked around her waist as she curled hers under mine, her thighs directly beneath mine and her knees under my ass. We lay together on our sides on the bed, clutching each other tightly. It was as though the last two years had never even happened, or would have been like that perhaps if not for how we were sobbing quietly, saying nothing, only gently stroking one another's hair.

"You're still my best friend," mumbled Quinn.

"You're still mine," I whispered back, ignoring the words that trailed along the curtails of the statement in the forefront of my mind. _And I still love you._


	13. Stick Figures

**A/N: Thank you guys so much for all the reviews/favorites/follows! They mean so much to me.**

Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter XIII**

* * *

**Quinn's POV**

Santana's hand was clutched tightly in mine as we descended the staircase to join the others in the lobby downstairs. When we arrived, everyone went silent, their chatter fading away as their eyes fell on mine and Santana's joined hands. It was an unusual concept that they weren't used to. Some of the kids that had not moved here until our junior and senior year, such as Joe, Rory, Sugar, and Blaine, had never known either of us during our friendship, had only seen the animosity and cold indifference between us, so it was their gazes that were the most shocked and bewildered. But a few people, such as Brittany, Rachel, Finn and Sam, had small smiles on their faces, relief evident on their faces.

I cleared my throat, a little awkward, and Santana and I both wordlessly moved to the couch, where we sat curled up next to each other. I didn't care how uncomfortable our friends made us; I finally had my best friend back, and I feared that if I let her go, she would somehow leave me again. So I wasn't about to release her hand from mine anytime soon.

As usual, Rachel sprang to the front of the room where everyone could see her. It wasn't as annoying now, though. I guess I felt a little closer to her, and more appreciative, after our talk earlier. She really was a good person, even if she was a little obnoxious at times, and I was so unbelievably grateful to her. "Now that we're all down here, we can get started on picking our game for tonight." Finn crossed the lobby toward Rachel, his long arms wrapped around several boxes. Rachel pulled one out of the midst, held it up so we all could see. Several people made excited noises. "Our first option is Twister." She switched the box into her left hand, and used her right to pull out another. "Our second option is Monopoly." Kurt and Blaine nodded enthusiastically, while the rest of the group groaned. Puck even uttered a string of curse words expressing his feelings toward playing Monopoly. Ignoring him, Rachel chose another box. "Pictionary is our third option…" Finn held up the final two boxes. "Apples for Apples is our fourth option, and BS is our fifth and final. We also have Charades in Finn's pocket, so there's that too. Now, we play one every night. So choose wisely."

People began calling out various game choices, but the general suggestion was Pictionary, so Rachel opened that box and set up the white board. Whoever guessed right first got to go first, we weren't allowed to write words out, and those were pretty much the only rules. Since Mercedes had most eagerly called out to play the game, she went to the front of the room and started the game off.

I wasn't really paying much attention to the game, to be honest. I was too busy looking down at my hand clasping Santana's. My pale skin was a stark contrast to her mocha-brown, and my nails that I spent most of my time chewing on and biting (it was a bad habit I had fallen into every since stress basically took over my life) were pathetically childish next to her carefully rounded short nails. My hands also had burn scars on them from my job, while hers were so perfect and flawless. I knew there were some scars on her palms from when we were children and she fell off her bicycle when we were stupid enough to go drifting down a huge hill, but the backs of her hands were otherwise perfect.

I felt her gaze on me, and glanced up to see that she was watching me. I felt sparks dreg up in my belly, and it was such a strange sensation because it was so familiar yet unfamiliar at the same time. It was something I used to experience on a daily basis growing up, yet had not felt properly in two years because I had done so carefully to avoid looking at her that whole time. I swallowed, struggling to make my breathing pattern seem normal even though my heart had kicked and started to beat more rapidly.

Slowly, the corners of Santana's full lips tilted up, and her eyes crinkled. For one wild second I thought she had noticed my reaction to her, and was laughing at me. Then I reminded myself that she would probably be acting differently if she had. She would probably be angry, because I know she looked for any possible reason to be angry with me. I was scared I would somehow push her into a fury again, and she would abandon me just when I finally got her back.

I forced myself to be calm, as I tilted my head and whispered, "What?"

She shook her head, almost imperceptibly so that Puck, Rory, Joe, Artie and Sugar, who all sat around the couch across from us, wouldn't take notice. "I just really missed you," she whispered back.

I smiled softly. "I missed you too."

We both simultaneously leaned forward, bowing our heads. We rested our foreheads against one another, closed our eyes, and merely sat there like that for a few seconds. My heart felt so full of emotion it felt as though it was going to burst; I couldn't believe I was sitting here in Maldives, holding my best friend's hand. This would be a perfect moment I could live in forever, if only Beth were here too.

Then our moment was ruined, when someone shouted, "Santana!"

We both jumped, turning to look for Puck, who had shouted the name. But he was looking at the front of the room, where Brittany stood with a marker in her hand. The drawing on the board was of a busty girl wearing a red dress riding a unicorn. Although it looked like it could have been drawn by a first grader, it was clearly Santana, if not for the drawing itself then for the bitchy scowl drawn on the face.

As everyone laughed, Santana cocked an eyebrow at Brittany, giving her a withering gaze, and Brittany shrugged, smiling. "The card said 'draw a picture of your best friend'."

"Alright ladies, time to let a real man show you how it's done." Puck slid off the arm of the couch he'd been sitting on, took the marker off Brittany, picked a card and hit the timer on.

We watched in silent amusement as Puck drew what looked like a cartoon dinosaur. Before anyone else even had the time to draw breath, Santana called, "Jurassic Park!" Of course she would get that immediately. She had loved those movies when we were kids, and I couldn't even tell you how many times we had rewatched them during sleepovers.

"That's right." Puck turned to wink at us. "The perfect choice for Puckasaurus." He handed the marker to Santana, whose hand I reluctantly released so she could climb off the couch and walk to the front of the room. She picked a card, frowned, and hesitatingly hit the timer. We all tried to stifle our chuckles as she then proceeded to draw what seemed to be a stick figure with an umbrella, and beside him an arrow pointing to a circle, with a square drawn around it and a stick figure woman (complete with circles for breasts and all) drawn around the square.

Everyone threw random guesses out, but no one knew what the hell she had drawn. Santana had never been a good artist, and her drawing talents really did peak at stick figures. Frustrated, she drew what seemed to be a knife, but then the buzzer went off and we all groaned and laughed.

"It was Shawshank Redemption!" she said in exasperation, slapping down the marker on the side of the board.

Everyone really couldn't stop the laughter now, and it even tugged a smile out of Santana. "How in the _hell_ is that Shawshank Redemption?" asked Mercedes, her shoulders shaking with her giggles.

"Uh, it's obvious!" Santana pointed a finger at the stick figure with the umbrella. "This is the guy with his little rock hammer thing," she said, and then moved her finger to the circle and square. "This is the hole in the wall with the poster of the girl over it."

"Why did you draw her naked?" tittered Tina.

"That's a bathing suit! She's wearing a bathing suit in the poster in the movie!"

"And what's up with the drawing of the banana?" chuckled Kurt.

"That's the knife! Like…shank. Shaw_shank_."

"Oh my God," said Kurt, and rolled his eyes before collapsing into laughter along with the rest of the group.

"Yeah yeah, laugh at the shitty artist." But Santana sounded amused as well, even despite her arms folded over her chest and her bitch stance. She turned to Rachel, who tried to sober in front of her, failing and only managing to hide her smile behind her hands. "Well, since no one guessed it, who goes next?"

"You…um…get to pick someone," she said, her words barely coherent through her laughter.

Santana sighed, rolling her own eyes, but when she turned her grin was fixated on me. "You're up, Q," she said, tossing the marker to me.

I stood, still smiling. She nudged me in the elbow as she passed by me to take her place back on the couch.

I plucked a card out of the stack, and my smile didn't fade. _Easy._

I hit the timer and began to draw. I traced the outline of my hand, and then drew a circle around it, adding a few lines at the top extending upward. I drew eyes and a mouth in the hand, and drew water lines out around the circle, as though it were floating in the water. People had already began to shout "Wilson!" before I even started on the palm tree in the distance, though I finished it despite the fact that Artie had already yelled "Cast Away!"

I gave him the marker as I passed by him to plop down beside Santana on the couch again. I faced one awkward dilemma for a second; should I take her hand again? Would she find it weird?

Then she reached over and took my hand herself. As she intertwined our fingers, she leaned over to me, and whispered, "You didn't have to be such a show-off, Picasso."

I smiled at her, shaking my head. I was an okay artist. Nothing to brag about, but I could at least draw things a little more sophisticated than stick figures. I arched a brow, my smile turning superior. "Jealous?"

"Me, jealous of Quinn Fabray? Please." But she winked at me, and I laughed.

After playing Pictionary for a couple hours and then talking and laughing for another few, it was late, and everyone was tired. Puck wouldn't shut up about how pissed he was that we couldn't order alcohol via room service, but I wasn't surprised. I had researched Maldives before we came, and as it was a Muslim country, alcohol was banned from the residents here. As tourists, since we were over eighteen we could order some at restaurants, but it had proven difficult to find so far.

We all retired back to our rooms, trudging up the stairs with tired feet. It was nearly four in the morning, and though I was used to being up at this time (Beth had been a colicky baby), Santana wasn't. She looked half asleep as we entered our hotel room.

I left her to her own suitcase as I went to dig through my own for something to sleep with. "Quinn?" she said sleepily; I turned to face her as I pulled my shirt over my head. She already had her shirt on, but she was still tugging her shorts up her long, tan legs. It felt like a direct punch in the gut, seeing her legs exposed, seeing the black thong she wore. I took a deep breath in, less discreet than usual since I knew that half-asleep Santana was twice as delirious as even a drunk Santana. She was sober, but seriously, when the girl was sleep-deprived, you wouldn't know it. When we were children, she'd been even worse. When we were ten years old, we went to the zoo with my grandmother and Santana had complained of being tired, sat down on a bench, and fell asleep sitting up within literally five seconds. My grandmother still had the picture to prove it.

She trudged over to me, and I couldn't help but to smile at how adorable she was with her heavy eyes, mussed up hair and exhausted slumped shoulders. She wrapped her arms around me in a gentle embrace. "I just wanted to say before I fell asleep that I'm going to make it up to you." When we pulled back from one another, she brushed strands of my hair out of my eyes with her fingertips. "I'm so sorry for everything that I've done. I was the worst friend ever."

"It's okay. Maybe I could have done some things differently too," I mumbled.

I could have done a lot of things differently. What Santana had done was horrible, don't get me wrong. She hadn't been there for me when my sister died, or when I was pregnant and had Beth. She had abandoned me in a way that was wholly worse than how my family had deserted me. But it took two people to cause her to leave me. I had definitely given her false signals, or rather given her the right signals, but ones I shouldn't have given her regardless. I had been so intent on pleasing everyone else, and being a "lesbian" had not been the way to do that, so even despite how much it had hurt, I had not allowed myself to be emotionally close to Santana in that way. Eventually, I broke down and things became physical with us, but by refusing to acknowledge it and denying it at all costs, I had been able to narrowly avoid the destruction that being with a girl, and my best friend at that, would bring; or so I thought. In the end, it ended up with me forcing Santana to leave, and her choosing not to come back. I understood that I had led her on, and that was a terrible thing I never should have done. But it wasn't as though she wanted to marry me or anything, it wasn't as though she was in love with me. I knew she loved me, but she wasn't in love with me. So the consequences should not have lasted so long, and perhaps it was my silence and lack of apology that caused it so. God knows that when Frannie died and Puck knocked me up, apologizing was the last thing on my mind. I was angry and scared and alone, and I hadn't been thinking properly. But now I understood.

"I'm sorry," I said softly, and hugged Santana again. I led her to her bed, held back the sheets while she crawled in. Then I tucked her in, bringing the covers under her chin. "I'm sorry," I repeated. "For leading you on, and lying to you."

"Oh, Q," she murmured, smiling sadly through her sleepy stupor. She gently patted my cheek before closing her eyes, yawning. "The only person you really lied to was yourself," she sighed, and before I even had the time to frown, she was asleep.

_What was that supposed to mean?_


	14. Overpriced Clownfish

**A/N: Hey guys, sorry it's been awhile since my last update! Life tends to get busy and hectic, but regardless of that, updates are coming! The next chapters _hopefully_ shouldn't take as long; I do go back to college in less than two weeks, _but_ I already have written at least one future chapter so that's done at least! :) Anyway, as always, I _love_ your feedback, love reviews/favorites/follows, you seriously have no idea what they mean to me, so thank you to all my beautiful readers! **

**Enjoy!**

**Chapter XIV**

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**Santana's POV**

How embarrassing was it to admit that I had wanted to sleep with Quinn last night?

Not sleep with her, although that was always a given. I just wanted to sleep in the same bed with her. Last night, after we apologized to each other, we had literally held each other for an hour. Just one solid hour lying in bed, our limbs tangled and bodies flattened together. Her skin was so soft and warm and familiar against mine. Everything about her was familiar, right down to the pattern of her breathing and the rhythm of her heart beat. As much as it ached my own heart, because really I would have given anything to feel her lips on mine again, it was incredible. I had honestly never thought I would be holding Quinn Fabray again, let alone another chance to be her friend.

Together, we cried out all of our tears. Afterwards, we simply lay and continued to stroke one another's hair, until Rachel's quiet knock on the door signaled it was time for us to go downstairs and join the others. I hadn't let go of Quinn's hand, even when we went downstairs, and she hadn't let go of mine. In fact, she had only held it more tightly.

I usually became a basic zombie when I grew too tired, but I had some ghost of a memory involving Quinn and mine's conversation last night as she tucked me into bed. I hoped I hadn't offended her. Honestly, when I was too sleepy, I lost inhibitions that I would normally have when fully awake. Hopefully I hadn't fucked up what I had just miraculously recovered.

When I woke, the first thing I did was turn to look over at Quinn's side of the room. She was facing me, so I could see her clearly curled up on her bed, her lips parted as she slept peacefully. I relaxed, sat up, stretched and yawned. Then I quietly called in room service and waited in the hallway for it so that the knock on the door wouldn't wake Quinn. I carried the tray of eggs and toast back into the room, closed the door softly behind me, and then crossed the room to gingerly sit on the edge of Quinn's bed. I put my hand on her shoulder, ignoring how even the simple feeling of her warm arm beneath the sheets put a little spark in my belly, and gently shook her.

"Q," I whispered.

She didn't respond until after I shook her again, and she groaned. "There better be a good reason why you're waking me up."

Two days ago, I would have snapped at her saying that and found a million and one ways to retort and curse back at her. Today, it just made me smile. "Turn around and see."

She gave a huff of breath, annoyed obviously, but turned over in bed. She appeared confused for a moment. Then a smile split her face. "Breakfast?"

"Yep." I plucked a piece of toast off the plate, took a bite of it. "Eat up."

She smiled warmly at me as sat up, took the tray and laid it on her lap. As she dug into her eggs, she said, "Thank you. This was a…nice surprise."

I shrugged. "Least I can do," I said lightly. She knew what I meant and therefore only nodded before shoving a forkful of egg into her mouth.

"So," I asked after a moment of chewing and swallowing. "I was pretty much comatose when we came up here last night, so you'll have to tell me. What are Rachel's plans for us today?"

Quinn shrugged. "I don't know. I think she wants to go shopping."

"Tell me again why we're having this vacation on Rachel Berry's schedule?"

Quinn's smile was wry. "Probably because she has organization and Nazi methods down to a T. Hey, at least it's not Coach Sylvester in charge here. Imagine that."

"We definitely wouldn't be having this breakfast right now, that's for sure." The bit of egg and toast in my mouth suddenly tasted even more exquisite, and I ate with more relish.

"She'd be having us do army pushups on the beach."

"We'd probably be dragging ships into harbors, old movie style," I said, and Quinn actually giggled. It made me smile in response, and I felt like I was falling back into an old life. One where I tried to make Quinn smile, and she always did, and I always smiled because of it. It was like an endless loop of cheesy smiles.

"And she'd be yelling at all the guys staring at us since she'd be making us do it in our bathing suits."

Yep, just like an endless loop of cheesy smiles, and then me growing hot whenever she made some innocent comment that somehow made me think of her half-naked. _Damn it._

"Hey, no one's even seen your bathing suit," I realized. Well, actually, I already realized that yesterday due to the dress she wore over her suit, but I just realized that no one else had seen it either. "What's it look like?"

"Um…" She looked down, brushed crumbs of toast off the blanket. "I'm not really comfortable with people seeing so…much of me." She looked up, saw my puzzled frown. Quinn had always been modest, but she had never been particularly shy. She'd never not been confident about her body. "I have stretch marks from when I was pregnant with Beth," she added at my obvious confusion.

_Oh._ And there I was the other night, making stupid stretch mark jokes and insults. I was such a bitch. "Oh. Um. You know, what I said the other night—"

She waved it away, averting her gaze from mine again, obviously embarrassed.

I continued on, ignoring her, "No, listen. I was just trying to be mean, and I'm sorry. I didn't realize you were actually so…ashamed of that—you know, you shouldn't be. Seriously, you shouldn't. You know you're…you know."

She quirked an eyebrow up at me, tilting her head in an amused bafflement. "What?"

I was the embarrassed one now. I vaguely gestured at her. "You know you're…you. And you have nothing to be ashamed of."

How humiliating. _You're…you. _Jesus, I was pathetic. Could I be any more obvious in the fact that I thought she was the most beautiful creature in the entire universe?

"Thank you," she murmured, diverting her gaze again, focusing her attention on the last piece of toast instead. She ripped it in half, stuffing hers in her mouth and offering me the other piece.

"Thanks," I said, taking it. I felt so awkward. I needed something to talk about. "So, tell me about your life after high school, now. What are your plans?"

She looked up at me, surprised. Maybe she didn't think I cared. It had been something I often wondered about, though. "Um. I don't really know, to be honest."

"You don't know?"

She shook her head, gave me a half-shrug at the same time. "Not really. I was accepted into a few schools I applied for, but, I don't know how I would go about doing them, with Beth and my grandmother…"

"Have you thought about taking them online?"

She nodded. "I think that's what I'm going to do."

"What school?" I asked, interested.

Her smile turned a little wry, as though she knew what my reaction would be to whatever she was about to say. "Yale."

"Yale! Holy shit, Q." I laughed, and she grinned, abashed. "That's crazy. You've wanted to go there since we were kids."

"I know. I was really excited when I got the acceptance letter, it's just…"

"What?"

She sighed. "It's so expensive! I don't know how I'm going to pay for it."

"Scholarships," I suggested. "Apply for as many as you can. And I'm sure you'll get a hella lot of federal aid, especially since you're a single mother."

"I've been saving up, too, since I work two jobs. I've gotten better at math since I've been forced to use math skills," she smiled, and the wink she gave me sent a few tingles through my body. "I've been paying off the bills with it, obviously, but I make enough that I have a little left over every month. Ten percent goes to my college fund, and twenty percent goes to Beth's college fund."

_Beth._ I hesitated in asking my next question now, simply because of all the pain that accompanied it.

"Um…what's she…what's she like?"

Pain flickered across Quinn's hazel eyes; clearly, like me, she felt the pain in the fact that I didn't know her daughter. I should have, considering I had been her best friend, yet I didn't. Then, to my surprise, her face split into a smile. I was confused, until I realized it was probably because she looked forward to telling me about her child.

"She's amazing. I know every parent says this about their kid, but she's honestly the smartest kid ever."

"So she doesn't get her brains from Puckerman, then," I joked.

"Thank God," said Quinn seriously. "It's bad enough she has his hair."

I snorted. "As long as she doesn't go trying to style it into a Mohawk, I think you're good." Quinn laughed, and then another thought occurred to me. "You know what I've always wondered?" I blurted out, and she looked expectantly at me. "Why did you name her Beth? Why not…"

_Why not Fran? _Quinn knew what I wanted to say. I watched the way her eyes dulled, her smile faded. I instantly regretted asking the question. "No, never mind. You don't have to answer that if it makes you uncomfortable. I'm sorry I asked."

"No, it's…" She shook her head. "It's okay." She took a deep breath, brought her hazel eyes up to meet mine as she said, "About a week before Frannie died, we were watching Teen Mom together. Ironic, I know," she added with the ghost of a smirk before continuing, "Somehow we got around to what it'd be like to have our own kids. She said that when she had kids, if she had a girl, she'd name her Bethany."

"Oh." I was unsure what to say. I had more questions, but I felt like I was putting too much pressure on her to ask them.

Quinn seemed to guess as much. "She didn't mention what she'd name the boy. And her reasons for Beth were because she was a huge KISS fan." A faint smile appeared on Quinn's face; I echoed it.

"I remember." I could recall more than one occasion where Quinn and I went over to her house after school and Frannie was outside practicing her tumbling to KISS blaring out of her stereo speakers. And for Frannie's birthday parties, not the ones her parents threw her that were all fancy-dress and stiff coworkers everywhere, but the ones after hours where it was just the three of us and her parents had gone out or gone to bed, Frannie, Quinn and I would sing KISS karaoke. Quinn had idolized Frannie growing up, believing she was perfect in pretty much every way. But there was no way that even Quinn couldn't acknowledge that Fran was a terrible singer.

Quinn cleared her throat, obviously hoping to change the subject. "So…any ideas what we're doing today?"

I shrugged. "It's been three days. What's what according to the Rachel Berry schedule?"

Quinn nodded, a little glumly. "I'm guessing today is shopping day, then."

I, meanwhile, grinned. I'd been waiting to get my tourist shopping on. "Finally."

She shrugged unaffectedly, and I guessed it was because she wasn't exactly the same rich girl I had grown up with. I made a promise to myself to buy her something nice—if there were anything I could do to make her happy, I would do it. I had two years worth of making up to do, that was for sure.

We decided to split up, boys and girls, for the first hour of shopping. I say hour because there were literally dozens of shops just waiting for us to visit. A few of them held familiar things, such as Nike shoes and Aeropostal clothes, though they were about four times as expensive here as they would be back home. But most of the shops sold homemade clothing, designed by locals. While all of us girls, including Kurt, lingered in the clothing section for most of the hour, the boys were apparently constantly on the go. I think everyone that was a couple was trying to get each other gifts; I know I definitely saw Brittany buy a keychain that had a picture of the beach with the name Samuel engraved into it. Tina bought a little Asian thing I think she planned on giving to Mike as a bit of a joke. Kurt bought a tie with palm trees on it, I'm assuming for Blaine though I wouldn't be surprised if he wore it himself. Rachel was loading up on gifts for Finn; all I could hear was her chattering on about how he would love this and he would love that. She bought each of her dads something, and bought Carol and Burt Hummel things as well. Though Kurt was with us, she even bought him some kind of coconut friendship bracelet. This past senior year, Kurt and Rachel had grown extremely close, and they were planning on both attending NYADA together.

Eventually, the boys joined us and we were all shopping together, everyone's surprises hidden away in their bags. I dawdled behind Mercedes and Sugar, who were both cracking up as they tried on as many scarves as they could fit around their necks and then taking pictures of themselves wearing them. While most of the people here had several bags around their arms, I only had two. One was filled with some kind of Indian-looking dress and a pair of beaded moccasin shoes to go with it, and the other bag held just a shirt with the words Lily Beach Resort held over a beach scene printed on it, and a Maldives keychain. The shirt was a souvenir for myself, while the keychain was for my mother. I didn't know what else to get. Looking around the shops, I saw nothing of particular interest that I would want to get Quinn. Everything seemed either too indifferent, or too…much. It was basically either a dinky keychain or a glass seashell engraved "I Heart You" on it. I couldn't get either of those…so what was I supposed to do?

I had kept my eye on Quinn as she wandered around the shops. Occasionally we would chat, but mostly we'd been walking in absent-minded silence. I was definitely uncharacteristically quiet. She only had a single bag, and thanks to the fact that I was always glancing at her every five minutes, I knew it held a large Lily Beach Resort t-shirt, presumably for her grandmother, and a cute little stuffed orca whale with the word Maldives printed in cursive along its white belly, which I knew was for Beth. Although she was still looking at the merchandise, I had a feeling she wasn't going to buy any more. She'd put her wallet away in her purse, anyway.

"Quinn," I murmured, beckoning her over to me. I stood before a display of glass figurines. When Quinn neared me, I looked over my shoulder at her, and asked, "Do you want to buy this?"

She looked at the figurine of a pearl in a glass oyster and immediately shook her head. "Um, no, I don't think—" I flicked the price tag label up to where she could see it, and she cut off, laughing, understanding my joke. It was over a thousand dollars. "Sure. Let me just pull that cash out of my ass."

"You'd have to have a really pretty ass to have that much cash jammed up it," I joked, regretting the words the moment they left my lips. But she only arched a brow at me.

"Are you saying I don't have a pretty enough ass?" she challenged.

_Shit,_ I thought even as I laughed at her backhanded question. This was the Quinn I remembered. She never failed to rise to a challenge.

"I'm not saying that at all," I said, smirking, but I backed off.

"Mmm." Her eyes were narrowed slightly, and she squinted at me for a moment before moving on. "How much is that one?" she asked, pointing at a silver coral reef figurine.

"Five hundred," I said, glancing at the tag. "Go figure."

We wandered into another clumping of stands, ignoring the various owners who called out to us about their bargains and to try this on or try that on, et cetera et cetera.

"Oh my God, look at how ridiculous this is," said Quinn in a low voice, laughter layering her tone. My gaze followed to where she pointed at, and I had to stifle my own laughter. It was an absurdly large clownfish hat. Literally, a clownfish. The opening where you put it on your head was a slit along its belly. Its fins went down to cover your ears.

"I'll pay you a million bucks to try that on," I said under my breath, and we both had to stifle our sniggers again; we didn't want to offend the owner, who was watching us like a hawk.

"I would if he'd…" Quinn's voice trailed off as Rory and Joe walked into the store and the owner went to help them shop around instead. "Okay. Give me it."

I plucked the hat off the stand it was hung on and plopped it on Quinn's head. I collapsed into a fit of quiet laughter upon seeing her with a huge ass fish on her head. "You look fucking insane. I'm so getting a picture of this." I pulled my phone out of my pocket, lifted it to snap a picture of her.

"Let me see," she said, reaching for the phone.

"Don't delete it," I insisted, handing her it. She laughed, though it sounded more like hissing since she had to keep it at a whisper level.

"Oh my God. Why would anyone buy this? How much is it?"

I peered at the price tag, which was hooked around the tailfin. "461 Maldivian Rufiyaas converted into US currency..." I quickly did the math in my head, thankful yet again for my mad math skills. "That'd be...around thirty dollars."

She snorted, loudly enough that the store owner shot us a dirty look over Rory's head. She ducked down and I stepped behind a clothing rack, and we both snickered beneath our hands until the owner turned around again to help customers.

"Jesus," I said, my shoulders shaking with the effort of suppressing my laughter. "You could fit two heads in there."

Quinn laughed again, the hat still flopped over her head. "You could! Come here," she said, lifting the hat up and spreading the slit wider. I stepped close to her, ducking down and then rising up to pull the hat on. Both our heads fit easily, without even touching. We both giggled in whispers, like idiotic school girls, and then I realized just how close we are by the fact that the scent of whatever fruity gum she was chewing blew right into my face. Then I realized just how close we were. Our laughter faded as we sobered, and then we were left both crouching, our heads jammed into a big fat clownfish hat, and standing closer than we should.

Our noses were literally less than an inch apart; if I moved forward even slightly, the tips would touch. I could count the very, very faint handful of freckles that dusted her nose and cheeks. They were so few and so fair that most people never saw them; I being a person who grew up with her and generally used to stare at her for the majority of the day, had come to recognize them. There used to be exactly twelve, but it appeared as though there were less now…perhaps because she wasn't as outside as often as she used to be.

God, when was the last time I'd truly been this close to her face, at this angle, able to observe her every perfect feature? She was so breathtaking. Flawless skin, plump pink lips, white even teeth, a cute little straight nose, long golden-brown lashes, luminous hazel eyes that seemed to grow a shade darker under my gaze. I felt heat flush my entire body, prickling my skin. I remember what happened when Quinn's gaze grew darker. Two years ago, it meant she wanted to engage in some kind of…behavior, with me…

I couldn't stop my eyes from darting down to her lips, and couldn't help myself from observing that hers did the same to mine before resolutely snapping back onto my eyes.

Simultaneously, we both lifted the hat off our heads and cleared our throats, both obviously uncomfortable. I stepped back, creating some much-needed space between us.

"Well, this is ridiculously overpriced," muttered Quinn as she set the hat back onto its stand.

I forced a laugh, hoping she didn't notice how horribly fake it sounded. "You know only a total idiot would buy it."

"Definitely," she agreed, as together we made our way out of the store and down the street, heading for another grouping of stands.

We both stiffened, speechless as Brittany neared us, a huge clownfish hat on her head. "Hey guys!" she said cheerily, waving as she skipped past us.

Quinn and I were silent for a full minute as we watched Brittany skip down the street, then disappear into a candy shop. Concurrently, Quinn and I both turned our bodies to look at one another; when we caught each other's eyes, we collapsed into laughter once more.


	15. Spin the Water Bottle

**Chapter XV**

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**Quinn's POV**

Time was passing so slowly and yet so quickly at the same time. Slowly because soon it would be a full two weeks since I last saw my daughter, yet quickly because as much as I ached to go home and hold my baby in my arms again, I didn't want to leave simply because I was having so much fun.

It was definitely a vacation. No work, no school, not even the work of going to the grocery store to pick up things for Beth. We had been in Maldives for eleven days. Each day and night had consisted of nothing but laughter and good times. It was refreshing to spend so much time with my friends, not worrying about anything else since I knew for certain each day that Beth and my grandmother were home safe and sound. We only had three days left before we flew back home, and they were sure to be an interesting three days. Puck was still trying his hardest to obtain some alcohol for us, but he had yet to find anywhere that the alcohol wasn't either cheap and worthless, or potent but ridiculously overpriced. He said he thought he'd found a good deal, though, and we should have alcohol for our last couple days, during which he assured us we would "party hard."

It was actually somewhat of a relief Puck had found some, I suppose, since we had pretty much depleted our supply of entertainment these past eleven days. We had gone to the beach every day, hit every store to shop in on the island, hit every restaurant, and played every game we had every night. Some had been a little more boring than others, such as when we played Apples to Apples and Monopoly. But others had been fun. BS was a laugh; while some people were absolutely terrible, such as Brittany and Rory, others such as Santana and I was freakishly good, and we dominated the entire game. Charades was a riot as well, having to watch Puck skip around the room trying to reenact Alice in Wonderland, watch Artie wheel around doing Fast and Furious, and watching Santana's ridiculously goofy impression of Mr. Bean. Twister had been very interesting too, if only for the fact that Rory had gotten a boner while he was draped over Sugar's body, and she felt it and screamed and scrambled away, knocking the rest of us down like a deck of cards. Everyone had been teasing Rory and Sugar about it ever since. I had been a little more preoccupied though, considering I had to watch Santana across the mat, her body twisted into some flexible, ridiculously sexy position. I had not enjoyed the fact that the position was over Brittany, however. I'm pretty sure that, considering they had been directly in Rory's line of vision, that was what gave him the boner, on top of the fact that Sugar's ass had been pressed right up in his crotch.

Yesterday, we had gone scuba diving for virtually no cost since Sugar had offered to pay for that as well. It took an hour of arguing with her before she finally convinced us to let her. Then we weren't too bothered. She was a millionaire, after all. It was so fun, too. I swam near Santana mostly, and we gripped each other's hands as we observed a pretty coral reef. Santana and I had grown miraculously closer just in the past week and a half. Which was why I felt another sort of panic at the thought that we were going home in three days. Would things stay the same?

I felt like this vacation was in another world, and everything that happened here couldn't possibly transcend over to our normal lives back in Lima, Ohio. Would we still be close? I like to think we would. We had been staying up for hours every night talking, just like we used to back when we had been best friends. I showed her pictures of Beth and glowed every time Santana cooed over how adorable she was. I admitted to Santana about my jobs, how I worked part time at the Lima Bean Grande Café, and full time at the Lima Heights Cinema, a job I had previously kept quiet just because I didn't want to deal with all my friends constantly coming in, and, lets face it, it was a little embarrassing. It was a different kind of cinema, unlike any normal one, if not for the fact that we were a private theater (where the auditoriums contain special lounging chairs with a messaging system that alerted the workers to bring concession foods into it), and we also wore special uniforms related to whatever movies we were showing. My favorite by far had been the cloaks and scarves we wore when the last Harry Potter premiered, complete with lighting scar tattoos and even wands that lit up to help us through the darkened theaters. My latest uniforms hadn't been much; when Hunger Games premiered, it was an overlarge mocking jay pin to wear on our shirts. Last month when Monsters University premiered, we wore visors that had MU on them. I was looking forward to when Mortal Instruments came in, since I'd heard we'd get huge, bold temporary tattoos to put on.

Sometimes, the outfits could be a little embarrassing, such as when we did a Wizard of Oz in 3D showing and all the female employees had to wear the frilly blue plaid dresses and braided pigtails (the men had to wear a Scarecrow outfit complete with the hat.) That was why I really hoped no one I knew would ever come in. Considering it was a steeply priced theatre, and the only one of my friends who had the excess money to spare was one who just randomly never felt like watching movies I guess (Sugar Motto), I had been lucky so far.

When I told Santana, she had to fight really hard to keep herself from laughing, trying to pull it off as impressed rather than amused. I teased her back, telling her that at least I had a job, unlike her unemployed self. When she insisted on knowing what ridiculous things I was forced to undergo there, such as the biggest order I ever had to bring to someone or the craziest outfit, I mentioned to her that my boss, an old woman with a quirky personality and a weird sense of humor, forced us all to wear clothing that was a little inappropriate whenever Man of Steel premiered. They were basically long socks, a blue shirt with suspenders with a large S on it, and a red skirt that was much, much too short. Then Santana went a little quiet, and her laughter faded a little, and suddenly my job was a whole lot less funny to her. It perturbed me a bit, to be honest, but then she changed the subject by asking how my grandmother has been doing, and I quickly forgot.

At the moment, it was Thursday evening, June 6th. We only had Friday and Saturday night left; on Sunday morning, we'd be on the plane back to Ohio. Today was mostly a relaxing day; we were all piled in Sugar and Mercedes' "Chocolate Sugar" room (since Sugar had rented a master suite) and were watching Never Back Down, one of the only movies that were playing with English subtitles. Since the two large queen-sized beds were both crammed with people, the rest of us laid spread out on the floor. Tina and Mike were both to my left; I think they were somewhere near the mini-fridge. Sam was on my right somewhere, although I couldn't tell where in the flickering light from the TV. Santana and I were both leaning with our backs against the end of one of the beds in which Kurt, Blaine, Rachel, Finn, Mercedes and Sugar were all crammed on. I was torn between a level of comfort and a level of awkwardness; it felt so nice to have the entirety of the right side of my body pressed up to Santana, even though I knew it shouldn't since she was only my friend. But I was awkward, and a little annoyed, because Brittany's head was resting in Santana's lap.

I mean seriously, what the hell? Didn't they break up? Was Brittany's boyfriend not sitting beside her, I'm assuming with her feet in his lap? So why was Brittany constantly all over Santana? Did they really have some kind of weird threesome thing going on all the time, or what?

It set a fire going in me, that was for sure. I hated to admit it, but I would be a total moron if I denied that it made me a little jealous. Why couldn't _my_ head be in her lap?

_Because that's weird and wrong and not something you do with someone you only just recently became friends with again and dropped the arch enemy for life status._

Okay, I admit I'd be a moron for denying this too: I wouldn't mind Santana's head in my lap or mine in hers. That was what gave me the most awkwardness and mix of conflicting feelings. _Why _did I always feel this way about her? Why couldn't we just be friends and leave it at that? I had plenty of friends that were girls. I didn't want to sink my teeth into Tina's lips every time she smiled. I didn't want to claw Rachel's clothes off every time she sang. I didn't want to dig my nails into Brittany's back every time she danced—okay well I did want to do that, but not in a pleasant way, because it pissed me the fuck off watching Santana watching her.

Fuck, I just wish these feelings would go away. They seriously drive me _insane._

By the time the movie finished, I was grumpy and ready to go to sleep. I wasn't even in a mood to stay up chatting with Santana, like I usually was. So when everyone else started immediately twittering on about a group activity to do tonight, I was naturally frustrated. I considered slipping away back to my room to sleep, but when I stood and closed a hand around the door handle to open it, of course Rachel piped up.

"Quinn, don't go!" When everyone else joined in with the protest, I turned to face them all. "We only have three days left!"

"Yeah, and then we might not ever see each other again," spoke Artie, and everyone groaned at him, a few people leaning over to smack him.

"Of course we will! We'll visit all the time, right guys?" said Mercedes, and there was a general consensus of agreement in return. I, meanwhile, still stood at the door, a bored expression on my face. I wanted to get out of here.

"Alright look," said Puck, standing up and looking around the room. "I made the deal, and tomorrow we'll have some alcohol. So tonight is the last night we'll have to play dumbass sober games, so lets make it a good one." He grinned, arching an eyebrow. "I'm voting Seven Minutes in Heaven."

A few people laughed, while most booed it away. "This isn't fifth grade anymore, Puckerman!" snarked Santana, but she was laughing too.

"Oh. My. God." Rachel hopped off the bed, a huge smile on her face. "I know what we can play." She snatched her water bottle off the desk. "Spin the Bottle!"

"Of course Berry would pick a fifth grade game too," spoke Santana again, but everyone in the room was cracking up once more, and people had even hopped off the beds, moving into a large circle that was more oval than round simply because of the size of the room.

"Um." I frowned down at everyone. I really wanted to go back to my bed, stare at pictures of Beth and fall asleep…

"You have to play, Quinn," insisted Rachel. "Three days. _Three_ days!"

"Yeah, come on, Quinn!" A few people chimed in. It was Santana who really sealed the deal for me, though. I only saw her out of my peripheral vision, saw the way her eyebrow winged up and a slight smirk appeared on her face; she knew I wouldn't do this.

"Alright, fine. Just one game," I said, and plopped my ass down in the circle between Rory and Joe, the two people nearest me.

There were several cheers, and then it was down to business.

"Okay, so here's the rules," began Rachel. "You_ have_ to kiss whoever it lands on, and it has to be a good kiss, at least longer than three seconds. If you don't do it right, you're out of the game."

A few people groaned, and I had to agree. I was going to show face and not take the cowardly way out, but if I had to kiss Puck, I was out of here. If it landed on Santana, there was no fucking way…but then I would really look like a coward, wouldn't I? I didn't know what I'd do. I couldn't kiss her. But I couldn't be the one to chicken out either…

"We'll go in clockwise order," said Rachel. "Finn can start, and I'll go last."

Everyone nodded, eager expressions on their faces, and I just sat wishing I was anywhere else but here. Santana sat across from me, between Sam and Artie. I carefully avoided her gaze, praying nothing would be forced to happen between us. I was sure that if it did, this friendship we had just so carefully reconstructed would immediately fall, reverting back to shambles.

Finn spun the bottle; when it landed on Rachel, people playfully booed.

"Rigged!" joked Puck, and a couple others echoed the sentiment as Rachel and Finn made out for a brief five seconds or so.

"My turn!" Brittany was smiling like a rotten school girl as she spun the plastic bottle. When it landed on Finn, everyone groaned again, laughing even harder.

"Two in a row…playah playah!" said Artie.

Brittany and Finn kissed, and Rachel surprisingly didn't look too pissed; she was even laughing as Brittany winked at Finn upon withdrawing.

Blaine spun next, and yet again was met with a chorus of groaning when it landed on Kurt. As they kissed, Mercedes shook her head. "You done rigged this shit, I know it."

Finally, when Sugar spun next and it landed on Mike, people gave cheers at a new coupling. They kissed, and Tina glared at Sugar, which I don't think Sugar even noticed.

The game went on for a bit, people laughing as it progressed. Artie was immediately forced to drop out when he spun and landed on Rory, and refused to kiss him. After him, Santana spun, and it landed on Rachel. Santana rolled her eyes, still smirking, and warned Rachel she better not sneak into her hotel room tonight for more before hooking a finger in the front of Rachel's blouse and pulling her in for what looked like a very steamy kiss that lasted at least seven seconds. When Santana pushed Rachel back, Rachel looked dazed, and everyone in the circle was laughing and waving as though to waft invisible steam away. My stomach and gut was tight, and my jaw was set as I struggled to control the anger that was curdling within me.

Time progressed as the game went on. A few people kissed that I wouldn't have expected to, such as Sam and Blaine. Puck and Santana kissed when Puck landed on her, and I had deliberately looked away simply because I couldn't stand watching it.

Puck dropped out of the game as well when Rory spun and landed on him. Poor Rory couldn't catch a break.

When it was finally my turn to spin (I was third to last), I landed on Brittany, and had to carefully keep a bored expression on my face despite the panic the prospect gave me. I was not Brittany's biggest fan. Yes, I know she was sweet and adorable and innocent to the point that disliking her should probably be criminal, but it wasn't like it was real dislike or animosity I felt toward her. It was simply the fact that she was Santana's ex girlfriend.

The kiss itself wasn't bad, and I wondered if kissing Santana had rubbed off on Brittany, because I swear that the way her lips moved against mine was familiar. It surprised me, how as Brittany pulled away, I ached for more, yet when I opened my eyes and saw that it was her before me and not Santana, I felt repulsed. My face was on fire as I avoided Santana's gaze at all cost; I at least could see out of the corners of my eyes that Santana was not smiling. She probably didn't like another girl kissing Brittany. Oh well.

Joe spun next, and shared an enthusiastic kiss with Sugar. Then it was the last turn, Rachel's turn, and when the bottle pointed toward me, I couldn't stop my eyes from widening.

_ Are you fucking kidding me?_

Everyone in the room was howling with laughter over the fact that now Rachel and I would both have kissed two girls in the game tonight. While that fact embarrassed me somewhat, Rachel's eyes were bright with what I could only assume was excitement over the fact that she was, like she always wanted, the center of attention in entertaining everyone.

When we both leaned over Joe to let our lips meet, this kiss was very different than Brittany's. The way Rachel moved her lips was more intense, dramatic I supposed. Brittany's kiss had been soft and sweet, while Rachel's was slower, deeper. She was, surprisingly enough, a very good kisser. I was grateful she didn't remind me of Santana; when she pulled back, I had no ache, although my lips were tingling.

Everyone else was demanding another game, but I was done. When Rachel tried to protest again, I told her I had a headache and didn't feel well, and I was finally allowed to go back to my room.

I spoke to my grandmother briefly on the phone; she and Beth had just woken up and were having playtime, which meant they were playing with Beth's toys while Mickey Mouse Clubhouse was on the television. I was only on the phone for half an hour, and then I settled into bed. I had just drifted into the limbo world between awake and dozing when the door opened, and Santana came in.

"Hey," she greeted, and then cursed, quickly flicking the light back on. "Shit. You're asleep."

"Yeah," I said, a little drowsily. I yawned as I sat up in bed, rubbed my eyes. Damn it, and now I felt perfectly awake. My almost-slumber had worked like a powernap.

Since I heard Santana stumbling around in the dark, cursing, I flipped the lamp beside my bed on to take in the sight of her hopping up and down in place, clutching one of her feet. I assume it was because she had just stubbed her toe on her suitcase.

"Jesus, you're a mess," I laughed, sweeping my bed sheets off me so I could cross the room, grip Santana firmly by her shoulders and steer her into bed.

"In the space of an hour, I've made out with Mike Chang, Kurt Hummel, Puckerman and Rachel fucking Berry. If that doesn't constitute as enough to make someone a mess, than I don't know what does."

I burst out laughing. "You made out with Kurt?"

Santana grimaced. "Yep. There's five seconds of my life I'll never get back."

"How many gay men have you kissed now?" I teased.

"Shut up," she grumbled, but it had tugged a smile out of her. "To be honest, Lady Lips is called Lady Lips for a reason. He's not bad."

"Mmm. I'll take your word for it." I sat down on the edge of the bed beside Santana.

Santana absently ran a hand through her thick hair. "God, I'm not even tired and it's two in the morning."

"We have been staying up late for the past week," I reminded her. Every night we had retired to our room at midnight but stayed up talking until at least three in the morning.

"Yeah, but I don't want to be cooped up in this room right now," she sighed, slumping back against the wall. She lifted her arms and folded her hands behind her head. "We've been cooped up in a room all day. I want to go to the beach."

"We've been going to the beach every day too."

"I know, but we only have three days left of this vacation and I want to soak up the sun as much as I can, while I can."

"The sun isn't out right now," I pointed out.

Santana rolled her eyes. "Moon, then." She hopped off the bed, and when she gave me that typical mischievious Santana-smirk, I couldn't help but to smile in return. "You man enough, Fabray?" she said teasingly, holding out a hand to help me off the bed.

_Santana and I out swimming alone on a moonlit beach at two in the morning? _I really shouldn't be doing this. But there was a dare in her eyes, and we both knew I never had been able to back down from a challenge. "Game on," I said, and our palms slapped as I took her hand.


	16. Playing with Fire

**A/N: Thank you guys so so much for the reviews, favorites and follows! They encourage and inspire me to continue writing, and you have no idea how much they mean to me! :) **

**You guys are seriously so awesome.**

**Here's the next chapter for you. I'm moving into my college dorm tomorrow for my third year of college! Hopefully I'll be able to update soon within the next couple days :) I've gotten quite a bit already written, so it's looking good! ;)**

**Enjoy!**

**Chapter XVI**

* * *

**Quinn's POV**

It was hot and humid, just as it had been every night for the past two weeks. There was a breeze, though, and the lack of sun did wonders for the temperature. Combine that with the warm sand and the cool ocean water, and it felt absolutely amazing out here. It ashamed me that sometimes, I felt like I never wanted to leave. If Beth and my grandmother were here with me, this would be perfect.

Of course, it helped that my hand was always clutched tightly in Santana's. It felt like home, as corny as that sounds. She always held my hand tightly, even when we were younger. As though she were afraid that if she loosened her grip, I would disappear. The funny thing is, I held hers with just as hard a grip, as though she would melt away if I let go.

"Holy shit, it feels incredible. I could just _live _out here," marveled Santana. We had stopped a few feet before the waves, and I looked at Santana; her face was upturned, and I could see the round orb of the moon reflected in her dark eyes. Her skin, normally a mocha tan, was turned a pale, almost waxen color in the moonlight. I hated how beautiful she was. Maybe my feelings towards her, the ones I couldn't make go away such as how I ached whenever I looked upon her, wouldn't be as strong if she didn't look the way she did.

"Maybe you should move out to a beach after you graduate," I suggested. "I definitely would. If I could."

"Well, you could." She shifted her gaze onto me, and her eyes were narrowed slightly, her brows pinched in a little and her head tilted to the side in the way she did sometimes when she was thoughtful and in a conversation. "Beth would probably like to see the ocean."

"I'm sure she'd love it," I mused, casting my own gaze over my surroundings. The gently sloping hills of white sand, the steady waves of water lapping the shore, the blanket above dotted with stars and lit up with a silvery full moon. "She likes water. She loves bathtime. More so ever since I bought her a little Mickey Mouse rubber duck."

"Mickey Mouse as a duck?" repeated Santana, amused.

It wrung a smile out of me. "Just a duck, but it's black and wearing the red pants."

"Oh." The cool air seemed to sting my hand as she released it, and then I felt my breath catch when she reached down, took the hem of her shirt in her hands and lifted it over her head. I hated how my face heated up, as I looked the other way, praying I wasn't too obvious in how awkward she made me. I was still standing there facing the opposite way when she began to shimmy down her shorts.

"Q."

I faced her when she said my name, and one of her brows winged up. "Aren't you going to swim with me?"

"Oh. Yeah." My blush was still burning my cheeks as I kicked off my sandals, dropped my room key and phone beside them. I definitely wasn't about to take off my dress; I would just wade ankle-deep because there was no way I was about to let Santana see my scarred body.

When I looked up, she was squinting shrewdly at me, her hands on her hips. Her expression was the least of my concern though, considering she was dressed again in nothing but a skimpy black bikini. I felt all the muscles in my stomach clench.

"Uh, no. I don't think so." Santana wagged two fingers at me, gesturing for me to take off my dress. "That's got to go. It's just me here with you," she added when I opened my mouth to protest. "Plus, it's dark out. You know my eyesight isn't the best. I can barely see you anyway."

That was true. Santana hadn't ever had the best vision. To be honest, she was supposed to be wearing glasses since we were eleven, but she hated the way they looked on her, and the three pairs her parents bought for her always managed to mysteriously break within her first few days of having them.

Still, though. My body, on display next to one as perfect as Santana's, with her flawless skin and her defined abs…

"Don't be embarrassed," said Santana, and her tone was so gentle that I had no choice but to comply.

Tentatively, I pulled my dress off, left in nothing but my own blue bikini. My hands immediately jumped to my stomach, obscuring the stretch marks from Santana's line of vision. She sighed, took a step so that we suddenly stood so close together that I could smell the jasmine in her hair. I jumped a little when she gripped my arms, gently pulled them away. Then she scoffed, rolling her eyes.

"_This_ is what you're so embarrassed about?" I felt her warm fingertips prod my lower belly. "Q, this is nothing. You can hardly even see them. You're being ridiculous."

I wasn't stupid. Even if I hadn't known Santana in two years, I still knew her. She was acting like this, casual, nonchalant and even a little scornful, to make me feel better. And, despite the fact that I knew that, it still somehow did. Or maybe it was the fact that I saw literally no repulsion in her eyes as she appraised me, her touch slowly trailing the contours of my scars. If there was anything in her eyes, it was affection.

"Thank you," I said softly. Before I could change my mind, I wrapped my arms around her neck and pulled her into a hug. She stiffened in surprise at first, but after a second she returned it.

"Now, down to business." She took a couple steps back, grinned. I squealed when she kicked water up at me; it wasn't very cold, but the surprise of it still took my breath away, particularly when I unconsciously licked my lips and then had to spit. _Yuck. _I had forgotten how disgusting ocean water tasted.

"Fuck. That's so nasty," I said, wrinkling my nose.

"You know you missed that taste," she teased.

"One, it's been over a decade since I've been to the beach. I didn't even remember the taste of it. Two, who could miss the taste of a trillion fishes' shit?"

Santana sniggered. " 'Fishes' shit?' Is that even the right way to say that?"

I shrugged as I followed her into the shallow water, shivering as the waves lapped at my ankles, then my shins, until finally it was up to my waist. I knew Santana would go no further than this, because even as kids I can remember the look on her face when our fifth grade science teacher told us about how ocean tides had an undertow that could suck you under and we learned all about a few dangerous beaches in Hawaii where people had been drowned after being sucked out to sea. Santana wouldn't go to where her feet could no longer touch the ground. I, meanwhile, had no inhibitions about the ocean or my swimming strength. I wandered out several feet farther, my head bobbing above the surface as my legs made powerful kicks through the water. I was only probably a foot away from the ground, but there was still a trace of panic on Santana's face as she looked out at me.

"Um. Hey, Q…" she began, and I smiled in response, waiting for whatever excuse she'd come up with to get me back on my feet. "Come here."

"Why?" I asked playfully, enjoying toying with her and watching the way she struggled to keep her expression devoid of the anxiety that threated to blatantly appear on it.

"Just come here."

I floated a little closer to her, enough that my toes could graze the sand. "Why don't you come to me?"

"Shut up you shithead, you know exactly why," she said, and shoved water at me when I burst into laughter.

"Don't make me dunk you," I warned, blinking the water from my eyes. Santana narrowed her own eyes, took a deep breath, and disappeared under the water.

I looked around, still laughing, certain that she would only be somewhere in front of me, rather than behind me where she couldn't touch. I was surprised when I felt her hands on my back, heard splashing as she kicked her feet and propelled both of us forward into shallower water.

"Okay, loser," I chuckled, turning to face her; her hands slid from my back and nearly to my chest before they jumped away, and my laughter subsided when, upon turning, I realized how close we were. Our legs brushed against one another, slick and smooth beneath the water. I felt a familiar ache as I looked at Santana, less than a foot away from me. Her hair was jet-black and slicked back, and the drops of water that clung to her ears looked like sparkling jewels. God, Santana was so beautiful. Brittany had been so lucky, to have been in a relationship with her, holding her hand every day, kissing her every night…

And _that _was not something a hetero friend should think. I swallowed, compulsively licked my lips in my nervousness, ignoring the bitter taste of the salt water. Santana's brows creased slightly and her head tilted as she studied me, wondering perhaps what was going through my mind.

"I haven't been swimming in awhile," I professed, thinking of the first excuse that could come to my mind. It didn't even explain why I was looking so intently at her. _Ugh._

"So?"

I smiled, looking out at the ocean horizon to stall. "Uh…I don't know."

She laughed at my awkwardness. "You're even weirder than I remember, Q."

"You make me weird," I said, and mentally cursed myself. _Not a good thing to say._

But Santana only smirked. "I have that effect on most women," she said loftily, turning onto her back and floating, putting much-needed space between us.

"Cocky," I teased, but it had an effect on me. To counteract it, I decided to go a little bolder. "Is that what's wrong with Brittany?" I dared, arching an eyebrow.

One of Santana's brows winged up in return. She didn't look annoyed, though. Only amused. "Please. That girl's been in love with unicorns since she was born. I had nothing to do with that weirdo."

"You've had a lot to do with her the past two years," I pointed out.

"You had a lot to do with her tonight," retorted Santana, and I grimaced as she laughed. "Oh come on. She's a good kisser. And Berry's not bad either. You had a good game. I had to kiss the Gay Train," she added, referring to Kurt with a vague look of repulsion on her face.

"Was he really that bad?" I asked.

She sighed, closing her eyes as she sank her head in the water enough that her hair was immersed. "No, he wasn't. I just like to joke around about it. I mean, he wasn't amazing. I think he tries too hard."

"At least he's pretty," I offered.

Santana snorted. "Yeah. I'd rather kiss him than Puckerman anyway."

"And I'd rather kiss Brittany and Rachel than Puckerman too," I agreed.

Santana cracked an eye open, grinning tauntingly. "You liked kissing them, didn't you?"

I gave her a withering glare. "Not particularly."

She was full-out grinning now, broadly. She stood upright, forgoing the floating so she could wade over to where I stood. The water was just up to our breasts, and as she walked I could see the water parting, giving me glimpses of something that shouldn't make me so breathless to see. "Don't you lie to me, Q. You looooved it."

She was teasing me, but I could tease back. The pattern was so easy, so effortless to fall back into. Like nothing had ever changed. "I'm not lying. I've had better." I grinned too, and then my smile faded when I saw the way hers did, the way something flickered in her eyes and she frowned momentarily. Déjà vu settled over me slowly, and I realized. The memory of Santana and I, swimming in my pool the summer between sophomore and junior year…our second kiss.

"Um." _Fuck._ I hated how much power she had over me. The memory was embedded in me like a shamefaced indulgence; something I couldn't help but to constantly think about, something that was always lingering somewhere in the shadowy recesses of my mind, ready to drift to the front at any given moment. It was one thing when I thought about it when I was alone, taking care of my own matters myself. That was my guilty pleasure all in one, something I would never admit to anyone for all the money in the world, and I knew it was something I shouldn't think about, for a variety of reasons. But it was another thing entirely for it to be dominating my thoughts right now, at this time, with the moon and stars shining over head and a warm breeze caressing my face and my body enveloped in cool ocean water and Santana standing just a few feet away dressed in nothing but a thin layer of black swimsuit and looking like some kind of water goddess, her skin gleaming and wet. This entire situation was making me wet, in a whole other way.

"Are you okay?" she asked, and there was a husky quality that hadn't been in her voice a moment ago. I wondered if her thoughts had taken the same twist that mine had.

"I'm fine," I said, mortified with how hoarse I sounded.

Her brow was creased; she was recovering more quickly than I was. "Are you sure, Q? You look like you've just seen a ghost."

"I've just felt one," I said faintly, and my face flushed, color returning to my cheeks as I realized the implications of my statement. Santana's face went blank, and her eyes turned darker, so dark I could see several tiny pinpricks of light in them, the reflection of the stars. Water rippled as she moved toward me, and instinct seemed to kick in; I turned, creating distance between us with one long stroke.

"I'm uh, tired of swimming," I said desperately, praying she wouldn't be angry with me, that she wouldn't call me a coward or accuse me of thinking about _us _and leave me again. _Please don't leave me again._

But she didn't look angry. She just looked a little perplexed as she followed me to the shore where our clothes lay. I pulled my dress back on, opting to carry my sandals instead of wear them. Santana, meanwhile, didn't put her clothes back on. She instead gathered them into a bundle and carried them under one arm. She gave me a hesitant smile as she came to my side, and I couldn't find the courage in me to return it.

As we walked, her hand found mine, held it tightly. I gave her a sidelong glance, creasing my brows apologetically as I twisted my hand out of her grip. Her mouth tightened, went thin, and her expression hardened, and we walked the rest of the way in silence.

When we reached the resort, I was surprised to see that everyone was still up, running around guffawing as they did horseplay in the hallway. I wondered what the hell had gotten into them until I realized they all held bottles of beer in their hands, and it made sense.

"Quinnie!" shouted Puck, and I scowled in response. The only people who ever called me Quinnie were my parents, and Puck when he was drunk. None of them bode very good memories for me. "Santana!"

Puck immediately made a beeline towards us. He weaved his way though everyone, carrying three bottles in his hands. When he reached us, he pushed a bottle each at Santana and I, and we both pushed it back at him.

"I'm not drinking, I'm going to bed," said Santana flatly, and I mentally cringed. _She was mad at me._

"Come on, just because you eat pussy doesn't mean you have to act like one. The 'you are what you eat' statement is totally untrue."

The snigger escaped me before I could stop it, and my hands jumped to cover my mouth. Santana slanted me a glare before plucking the beer from Puck's hand, smacking it against the wooden staircase railing and popping the lid off in one motion. "I know that, considering despite the fact that you don't _suck_ dick, you still manage to come off as a total _fucking _dick."

She stalked away, leaving Puck and I staring after her. "Damn," he said, taking another swig of his own beer. "Must be that time of the month."

I shot him a withering scowl, snatching the beer out of his hand. "I'm only having one," I warned him, though by his smirk I was sure he'd be trying to get me to drink more at least some point later tonight.

Since I had Beth, I hadn't had a single drop of alcohol. And I definitely hadn't planned to drink any on this vacation. But Santana was pissed at me, and I couldn't just leave her on that note. I needed to fix things between us.

It took over an hour for Santana to cool down, and during that time period, we both had several more bottles. It wasn't my intention, but every time she went to get a new one I followed her, hoping to talk to her, only to have her rebuff my attempts and march off again, leaving me with a brand new bottle in my hand and a heavier heart. It wasn't until she had joined in singing and dancing with Rachel, Kurt and Blaine, to fucking Rent (seriously, Santana?), and she was completely drunk before she finally stumbled over to me.

"Quinn," she breathed, smelling strongly of the beer as she threw an arm around my shoulders. I stiffened, my lips parting in surprise and a blush enflaming my face when she pressed her mouth to my cheek in a chaste kiss. "I'm sorry, boo. You know." She jerked her thumb behind her, as though gesturing to something behind her. "For earlier."

I looked into her hazy, unfocused eyes and considered being cold to her; she had been making me feel terrible for the past hour, anyway. But hell, I felt the alcohol buzzing in my system and Rachel and Brittany were singing My Little Teacup and I loved to sing that song with Beth and I was here with Santana in Maldives and we were friends again and what was there to be angry about?

So then we were staggering around together, laughing loudly and singing random verses of Vanilla Ice songs and stroking one another's hair and continuously exchanging sneaky glances at one another when we thought the other wasn't looking, which they always were, and then we would giggle and look away again, abashed.

I felt good. Why hadn't I been drinking for the past two years? I was fun and carefree, now. Surely me being a happier, more fun person was a positive attribute for a mother, and would benefit Beth!

I began to wonder why the hell the resort staff hadn't come to tell us all off for behaving so loudly and with alcohol, before I noticed Sugar stuffing a wad of Maldivian currency in one of the worker's hands. _Oh. That's why._

That's _awesome. _

God, I could do with being rich. I wonder if Sugar would even notice if I took some money out of her room. If I wasn't such a good person, I would totally do it.

Things started to get boring, and soon all I desired was to go hang out with Santana alone. Don't ask me why. It wasn't because I wanted my tongue in her mouth or anything, no, nothing like that. _Okay, maybe a little._ But even drunk, I knew that was something I should not do. Yet…as time passed, I had to wonder: _why,_ again, was it something I should not do? She was so fucking hot, and I'm pretty hot too, and I already knew from experience we were hot as fuck together. It's only natural that we're even hotter fucking…

My nerves felt alive and buzzing as Santana and I stood together, back to back, dancing along to the horrible sound of Sugar's voice as she sang out Love Shack with half of the club backing her. It didn't take long for Rachel to scramble to her feet, obviously with an idea in her head.

"Let's play seven minutes in Heaven!" she shrieked, tossing her arms in the air.

As everyone simultaneously roared with laughter or cheered, Santana turned to me. "Let's go. I don't want to play this, and they're all drunk."

"So are we," I tittered, ignoring how my voice was slurred slightly. I took a swig from my bottle.

"Are not. Come on, let's get out of here." She took a few steps, and then halted, gasping.

"What?" I said, a little alarmed.

"Oh my God. Let's go _skinny dipping_."

I snickered, bringing the bottle back to my lips again. "What if a shark bites your naked ass?"

Santana balked. "I didn't think of that."

"Or, what if those fish that swim up your pee swim up you?"

"I'm not going to pee."

"But what if they just are bored and decide to swim up you? And they live in your stomach and make a million little fish babies that take you over until they start swimming out your nose?"

"_Oh my God_. Let's do something else instead."

I was still chortling as Santana gripped my arm, steered me toward the staircase. No one shouted for us to stay this time; everyone was too preoccupied as they pressed up against the storage room door listening to whoever was inside making out. I think it was Puck and Tina, which was probably the weirdest couple I'd ever heard of.

Santana pulled me along as she headed for our room. Once we reached it, she fumbled to get the key inside the lock. Finally it swung open, and we trudged in.

"What are we doing?" I asked, plopping my ass down on Santana's bed.

"Lets make out," she said, and then seemed to cackle at my expression. "Just kidding. Like you could handle me."

"Ha ha, very funny," I said dryly, taking another swig. I wasn't falling for her bait.

"You know, Q, you really need to have an orgasm," she said randomly, and I was so intoxicated I couldn't even blush to such a wanton statement.

"I think I have," I garbled, drinking again.

"No, no, if you _think_ you have then you _haven't_. You'd know if you have. It's like…your body dies and then slowly wakes up again. It's like the best thing ever. You _need_ to have one."

"And who's going to give me one?" I ventured, teetering on the bed when I lifted my head to squint my eyes at Santana. She put her hands on my shoulders in an effort to steady me, which obviously didn't work since she was unstable

"Well," she smirked, giving me a sloppy wink. "You know I can always offer my talents to help those in need. But I know you don't want me to do that. But I can show you how to do it yourself."

"First off, who said I don't want you to do that?" When Santana was silent, her eyes wide as though stunned, I nodded, returning the sloppy wink as I set the bottle on the table; my stomach felt too fuzzy to drink anymore. "I want you to. You just shouldn't. Second off, oh, ha ha, second_ly_, I know how to do it myself. I just stop when I start to feel guilty."

"Mmm, but Q, feeling guilty's one of the perks." When I frowned at her, she wriggled her brows. "It's filthy. I mean, I know it's natural and part of our human nature and blah blah, all that shit, but I mean, it's _dirty_ at the same time. You're fucking touching _yourself._ You're _touching _yourself to make yourself feel good. You're thinking of something wanky to get you going, and you get so hot that you need to _feel _friction and you _have_ to feel it so you start doing things yourself. That's _so_ fucking hot."

Her gaze on me felt _so_ fucking hot. Why did her eyes grow dark when she looked at me? Sometimes I used to think it was a bad thing, until I realized it always happened when she was thinking about me in…inappropriate ways. Like now, I just saw it. I just saw how her eyes flickered down to my lips, and then back up again. Like she wanted to kiss me.

I wanted her to kiss me. Actually, I wanted more than that, I wanted to feel her body on mine. It had been two years since we'd done anything and, well, what better time than now to start again?

"In fact, what's really _fucking _hot is imagining all this. How often do you touch yourself?" she asked simply, and her words were surprisingly clear with the statement even despite how hazy she looked.

"Often enough," I answered back, and my words were less incoherent too. But I shouldn't be in this situation with her. Right now, though, it was hard to remember the reasons why.

"That's hot," she commented. She tilted her head, her hair falling over one of her shoulders. Her hair was a hot damn mess right now, to be honest. Frizzy and poofy, from swimming earlier and then coming back and letting it air dry. On most people it would look like a tangled afro. On her, however, it looked like she'd just been thoroughly fucked. How bad was it that I liked the idea of _me_ being the one that did the thorough fucking? God, it gave me all kinds of tingles shooting through my body. Particularly in my stomach, which was spinning almost as rapidly as my head.

"You're hot," I said without thinking, and she blinked in surprise before the corners of her lips turned up in a pleased smile. _Mmm, her lips._ They were so full and bitable. What I wouldn't give to sink my teeth into them, to taste them again…I wondered if they tasted the same…

Santana leaned forward before I even realized what she was doing, and before I realized what I was doing, I was leaning forward too. Santana's hand came up, brushed back the hair that had fallen into my eyes. Her hand cupped the back of my neck, her thumb stroking across my cheek, and my eyes fluttered shut as I tilted my chin up, my lips parting. I felt her breath on me a split second before I lurched to the right, throwing myself off the bed.

"Wha—" was the most she got out before I seized the mini-trashcan that sat under the desk and promptly proceeded to puke my guts up, projectile vomiting every ounce of beer I'd drank in the past two hours.


	17. Poisonous

**A/N: Hi guys, this chapter is a little shorter than usual but I'm working on the next one already, and I have future ones written already also so that helps :) School is crazy busy of course, being an English major I have a shit heap of papers to write every damn day which sucks, plus foreign language classes are also time consuming. I'm thinking I'm going to minor in sex psychology too.**

**Anyway, enjoy! :)**

**Chapter XVII**

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**Santana's POV**

I yawned as I idly turned a page in Catching Fire. It was a book Quinn had brought with her, one that she had been reading on the third day of our trip when we went to the beach for the first time. Since my day had been so dull (the only other things I had done all day was to pop a few Aspirin for my own slight hangover, take a shower, and browse the web for some good Maldives souvenirs ideas since I hadn't been able to find any for Quinn at the local shops), I took it off her windowsill and decided to take a peek. I'd only read the first seventy pages so far, but it was interesting enough that I thought I might read the first one. I'd liked the movie, after all.

Quinn was passed out cold in her bed. She'd been sleeping for most of the day, waking only a couple times to moan until I gave her some painkiller, brought her some water and forced her to eat a few crackers, and then she would fall asleep again. Apparently she hadn't drunk any alcohol whatsoever since before she had been pregnant with Beth. She'd even told me last night in her bewailing, drunken, puking form that the last time she had specifically drank was when she hooked up with Puck and had a few wine coolers in her system. That was a long damn time ago, and considering how much she drank last night, it wasn't surprising that she'd been forced to upheave it all.

I felt bad for her. It was the second to last day of our vacation, and it was nearly four o'clock. She'd pretty much slept through the entire day. The rest of the Glee club had gone to the beach again, and I volunteered to stay back and take care of Quinn. I didn't mind. The poor thing looked like a wreck and smelled like a mixture of alcohol and vomit, but I really could care less. All I cared about was making sure she didn't erupt into tears and weep for hours, like she had last night after the puking fiasco.

It unnerved me just how affected I was by her unhappiness. I had only been friends with her again for less than two weeks, yet it was like not a day had passed by between us, and when the tears started falling, my arms immediately went around her.

At first, it was bearable. Unpleasant yes, but bearable. Listening to her sob about how much she missed Beth, well, that was an easy pain to mend. I took her phone and sifted through the many pictures of her adorable baby and told her truthfully how cute she was and how Beth would want her mother to take a vacation and she was probably enjoying some grandmother/granddaughter bonding time easily consoled Quinn. What was difficult was when she began to cry about the things that were not so effortlessly solaced. First it was Fran, how she missed her sister and wished she could have met Beth. I told her that Fran would be proud of where Quinn is now, graduated and going to college and working so hard, and that one day Fran will meet Beth and she already loved her. Then Quinn cried about her parents, how they abandoned her and never loved her and hated her. I told her that they did love her, they just had a terrible way of showing it, and fuck them. But when Quinn had began to cry about losing her best friend, about pushing her away? That was unbearable for me. I didn't know how to fix that.

I tried my best. I told her that we were friends now and the past was in the past. But I wasn't sure how much good it had done. She continued to cry, and I continued to stroke her hair, and eventually she dropped off into sleep.

I continued to read for another half hour before Quinn stirred. When she sat up, moaned and rubbed her fists into her black-smudged eyes, I smiled and closed the book.

"Well, hello there sunshine. You've been sleeping for over two days."

Her eyes snapped open. "Oh my God. Have I really?"

I sniggered. "No," I admitted, swinging my legs off the bed so I could cross the room, take a bottle of water out of the mini fridge and hand it to her. "But you have been sleeping for hours. It's nearly five."

"Geez." She closed her eyes, a crease between her brow. Disgust rippled over her. "I have the nastiest taste in my mouth," she said as she brought the bottle to her lips, sipped.

"Not surprising. I came over to you once, and you had puke just, like, dripping out of your mouth. I think you spit up in your sleep," I explained, trying to keep a straight face despite the hilarious mortification on her face. "So I have no idea how long you had vomit just chilling in your mouth, but it couldn't have been good."

"That's fucking disgusting," she said, and her voice shook with queasiness. "I feel better now, though. I have a killer migraine, but my stomach is okay. Or was, until what you just told me."

"Sorry," I said, my lips half-curving. "Maybe you should go take a shower, if you feel up for it. It would probably make you feel better."

Quinn eyed me suspiciously, getting out of bed and moving around me. "You're just saying I smell and trying to be nice about it."

"No, I just mean—"

"Yeah, yeah," she said, waving my protests away. She was smiling, at least, so she couldn't be that offended. She really did smell like a terrible mixture of booze, sweat and sickness. "I'm going to get in. I'll probably call my Nana and put her on speaker in the bathroom, is that okay?"

"Of course," I said, raising my eyebrows at her as if to say, why wouldn't it be?

"Well, I just wanted to make sure, in case it was too loud or anything."

"You're all good," I assured her, and I returned to my bed and my book as she headed into the bathroom.

I couldn't help but to listen to Quinn and her grandmother's conversation as she showered. They didn't speak of anything in particular, really. Quinn asked a lot of questions about Beth, and her grandmother asked a lot of questions about the weather and the Maldives natives. It was a fairly uneventful conversation, and I couldn't help but to feel a little disappointed when I heard them end the call.

As to why I felt disappointed, I had no idea. I did, however, have a sneaking suspicioun that it was because Quinn seemed so…collected. I mean seriously, in the space of the last twenty four hours, I had taken care of her, cleaned the sick off her, and held her while she cried. Not to mention what was even more significant than that…which was the fact that I had nearly kissed her twice in one night.

What was I even thinking? It was insane. We'd been friends again for only a little less than two weeks. The history between us was incredibly poignant and tragic. The moment we started getting too close, I should have been running for the hills, let alone allowing myself to think that way at all. Quinn Fabray was not an option. She had never been one, really. She'd been my first love, my life-changer, my ex best friend and ex soulmate and ex everything. I should be steering far, far away from that road, that dark and twisted, thorny road where black fire marks the way and the only air consists of seductive, poisonous fumes. No matter how amazing and beautiful and tempting she was, I could not ever have her in any way like how I once almost did. It was nothing but destruction and heartbreak waiting to happen.

I had pretty much made my resolve to be more distant with her when the bathroom door cracked open and her head and a portion of her left shoulder popped out, as did my eyes when I took in the sight of her, soaking wet and positively naked considering she was hiding behind the door so she didn't flash me. I hated how my stomach clenched in response.

"Hey, could you hand me my towel?" She smiled apologetically as she poked her left arm out and pointed across the room at the white towel that had been hung up to dry, draped over her closet door. "I forgot it."

Not trusting my voice not to be unnaturally high-pitched if I spoke, I silently nodded and retrieved her towel for her. When I handed it to her, she smiled warmly at me, her hand brushing mine as she took it. I felt hyper-aware, my entire body uncomfortably hot at the obvious fact that, behind the door that stood between us, she was naked. And I wanted my hands on her. And my mouth.

"Thanks," she said cheerily, and then snapped the door shut in my face.

_Fuck._


	18. Amityville Liars

**A/N: Hey guys! Thank you sooo much! Your reviews are seriously what makes writing this worth it :) Just a few things:  
**

**I like jealous!Quinn too ;) And jealous!Santana...  
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**I don't know why this is tagged as Faberry? I don't see a Faberry tag anywhere on it, so I'm a little confused. There is a Faberry friendship, and a Faberry Kiss in chapter 15, if that's what you mean? But I specified that was one chapter. Hmmm.  
**

**Patience is worth it ;) Don't worry, Quinntana kisses are coming. Also, very mature scenes may or not be coming...I haven't decided yet ;) So get ready for that, if I decide so...**

**Anyways, enjoy and let me know what you think! I love hearing from you guys! :) Don't hesitate to PM me if you have any questions you'd rather as me privately!**

**Thank you again, and enjoy!**

**Chapter XVIII**

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**Quinn's POV**

I felt a million times better after I showered and got some real food in my belly. The room service was slow, but even despite my persistently growling stomach, having a conversation with Santana about the Hunger Games was enough to keep me occupied. Apparently she'd stolen my book when I was passed out, which I didn't mind of course. I told her she was welcome to borrow books 1 and 3 when we were back in Ohio, as long as she returned them to me once she was finished with them, because I enjoyed rereading them.

The rest of the gang didn't arrive back for another couple of hours, finally rolling in at around eight. After spending the day seemed pretty exhausted. Apparently Rachel fell asleep, so everyone was going to do his or her own thing before she woke up and decided to jump back into the schedule. As for Santana and I, we spent most of the night watching Law and Order while we chatted about random things (which mostly involved her teasing me about puking, and me teasing her about being my babysitter, although I spent a fair amount of time warmly thanking her as well).

At half past midnight, Brittany burst into our room, excited because she bought a DVD from the gift store. Santana and I groaned simultaneously when we saw that it was The Amityville Horror.

"You're both just scared," teased Brittany, her hands on her hips as she grinned tauntingly at us.

"No, we've just watched that so many times that it's been burned into our skulls," said Santana. It was a movie we'd watched every single summer at Cheerios camp, no thanks to Brittany. You would think, being as naïve and innocent as she was, that she'd be terrified of horror films. Instead, she was the opposite, and absolutely loved them. Santana seemed to think it was because Brittany was so innocent nothing could touch her—_I _happened to think it was because Brittany was so dumb, nothing could get through her thick skull.

Brittany rolled her eyes. "Don't be a baby," she told Santana, and skipped over to open the DVD player and pop the movie in.

Soon enough, half of the entire club was crammed into our room. Santana and I tried half-heartedly suggesting a few times that we move to the Chocolate Sugar room since their room and their beds were bigger, but everyone pretty much ignored us. Then the movie was playing, and I was on my bed, squished between Tina and the wall, with Kurt and Blaine curled up near my feet at the foot of the bed. Across the room, Santana had at first been smothered with Mercedes, Rory, Joe and Sugar all on her bed, before she barked at them to get the hell out of her personal bubble and they scrambled to the floor, where everyone else was huddled up, their eyes wide and fearful as the movie played.

I found myself growing increasingly annoyed as the movie progressed. Every time a scary scene came on, everyone in the room would shriek louder than necessary. Tina in particular would scream and jump so hard I would be jarred against the wall as she repeatedly flung her arms around Mike. Finally, I resorted to glaring at them in the light coming from the television, until I felt someone's gaze on me and I looked over to see Santana lounging on her spacious bed, lying on her side with her head propped up by one arm. She smirked as she rubbed her free hand in a circle over the mattress next to her, then lifted her hand and wagged a finger at me, indicating for me to cross the room to her. I immediately smiled in response.

I climbed out of bed (a few people jumped at the loud creaking noise it produced), and then weaved my way through the many people on the floor to go curl up next to Santana on the bed.

"I could kill Brittany," she whispered to me, and I nodded in agreement. "This is our second to last night here and we're wasting it watching this shit with all these idiots."

"I heard that," snarked Brittany, and Santana deadpanned, causing me to snicker. Then my smile was wiped off my face when Brittany quickly sprang to her knees and brushed a fleeting kiss on Santana's cheek before dropping back down onto Sam's lap. _Seriously, what the hell?_

"Jesus," chuckled Santana, scrubbing her cheek with her forearm. She frowned when she noticed my scowl. "What?"

"Nothing," I said stiffly, and one of her eyebrows quirked up.

"Is there a problem?" she asked. Her voice was calm, layered with amusement, and it reinforced my rapidly blackening mood.

"No," I replied haughtily.

Her dimple flashed, though she appeared to be suppressing her smile. "Q. Spit it out. What's wrong?"

"_Nothing_," I repeated in a vehement whisper, and her smile faltered.

She glanced around before leaning forward, ducking her head beneath my curtain of hair so she could bring her lips close to my ear. I felt heat prickle out over my skin at the sensation as she whispered, "I took care of you all night and all day, butthead, so you better spit it out before I go _all Lima Heights Adjacent_ on you."

My lips quirked at her use of the word "butthead," but it didn't do much for my irritation. I labeled it irritation because I refused to define it as jealousy. That petty and silly emotion was far from what I felt; particularly considering this was Santana, my _female_ friend. Why would I be jealous of Brittany kissing her cheek? Friends kiss each other's cheeks. I could kiss her cheek if I wanted to.

Before I even comprehended what I was doing, I leaned forward and quickly pressed a chaste kiss to Santana's cheek. When I drew back, she was frowning, her expression torn between shock and suspicion. I held my breath as I observed her reaction, my body tense.

"Uh…what was that?" she asked warily, her eyes dark on me. I ignored the little shiver that shook through me.

"That was thank you. For making sure I didn't die today."

She seemed to relax, rolling her eyes even. I seemed to visibly relax myself, my shoulders slumping as I regained the ability to breathe. "Jesus Christ, you're dramatic. Just because you were drunk for the first time in like, two years doesn't mean you're going to die."

"Actually, do you know that the reason you puke after drinking is because it's your body's way of survival? It is," I pressed when Santana only blinked at me. "Instead of getting alcohol poisoning, your body regurgitates it so you don't, you know, die."

She stared blankly at me for another moment, before she shook her head. "Still full of random facts, I see," she said, sounding entertained.

"I read it online," I said defensively, and she raised her palms in a sign of surrender.

"No, I don't mean it in a bad way. It's cute," she smiled, and her dimple flashed. _You're cute,_ I thought, and bit my lip so I wouldn't say it aloud. I had a vague sense of déjà vu, but the thought left me as quickly as it came, because I suddenly noticed Santana's eyes flicker down on the lip I was currently biting, before snapping back up to meet my gaze.

"Um…" she began slowly, obviously trying to think of something to say.

Despite how I enjoyed watching her squirm, I spoke up to help her. "Actually, can I be honest?" She nodded, intrigued. "Um…" I looked down guiltily, fixing my gaze on the design on Santana's shirt to avoid seeing her expression as I said, "Getting drunk with Puck wasn't actually the last time I've been drunk."

She cocked an eyebrow. To my relief, she didn't appear angry, only fascinated. "What do you mean?" she demanded, and forgot to whisper; Mercedes cleared her throat pointedly at us, and we lowered our voices even more, to where Santana had to lean forward to catch my next words, and I was stunned into silence for a moment because she was so close that her soft hair brushed against my arm, and I could smell the sweet, lavender scent of her shampoo. "Tell me," she persisted, nudging me.

"Okay, okay. Well, like a week after I slept with Puck, I got drunk again."

Her eyes widened; she was fascinated with this new bit of information and the reason why I had thought to lie about it before. "What'd you do? Where were you?"

"I…" As I looked into her face, I found myself unable to speak the truth. So I lied again. "I just…drank at home. I broke into my dad's liquor cabinet."

Santana sniggered, and I forced a smile. "That is so random, Q. Why? And was he pissed?"

I shrugged half-heartedly. "I don't know, I just felt like drinking. And he didn't notice."

"Wow," she said, shaking her head again, smirking. "That's just…really random."

"Yeah," I agreed lackadaisically. "It is."

She started telling me about the last time she was drunk, which was at some party Brittany hosted a month or so ago, but I was barely listening. I had seemed to shrink down within myself, shame curdling within me. During her story, Santana gripped my hand at one point, just out of enthusiasm as she told me about some wild thing someone had done at the party (I think it was Brittany playing Ding Dong Ditch naked), and she hadn't let go of it. After a time, she grew sleepy, her eyes heavy, and then we lay in silence, the movie playing in the background, and Santana traced patterns onto the back of my hand with the tip of her thumb until she gradually nodded off. I lay still and silent, watching her sleep, how peaceful she looked. How beautiful she looked. And I felt guilty.

I hated lying to her. But how was I supposed to tell her that I'd gotten drunk and slept with not just one, but two girls? When I had spent so much time and effort avoiding sleeping with Santana, and even ending our friendship because of it? How would it make her feel to know that I had refused her, but jumped into bed with two total strangers?

It hadn't meant anything. Honestly, I was just a mess. Frannie had died less than a month ago, Santana still hadn't spoken to me, I'd slept with Puck and it had done nothing for me, and I was confused by my feelings for Santana, so I'd went to a gay bar, gotten trashed, and went home with two girls. I had never met them before then, nor had I seen or spoken to them since then. They hadn't been anything more than a one-night stand. But would Santana understand that?

Somehow, looking into her warm, beautiful eyes, I couldn't bring myself to take the risk.

I nodded off myself after awhile, and when I woke again, our room was empty and the television was shut off. Santana had rolled over in her sleep and I was spooning her. Considering it was only six in the morning, I curled back up to her, drifting off again. Tomorrow (well technically today, but I mean when I wake up again) was the last day here. Then we would be heading home.

I tried to ignore the yearning, aching feeling it gave me in the pit of my stomach. Here, time seemed to stand still. Here, I was spending time with Santana all day, every day. When I went back home, it would be returning to reality. I would be back to working all the time and struggling to take college classes, most likely. Santana would be going to New York to try to make it big, whatever she was doing. Our lives would go on.

Was it so terrible of me that I didn't want this to end quite yet? Carefully, I tilted my head forward, pressed my lips to what was directly in front of me, which was Santana's warm, smooth shoulder. Then I sank back into sleep, my arm draped over Santana's waist and my face half-buried in her hair, enough to where I could breathe, but her lavender scent surrounded me.


End file.
